Now and again, she would disappear for a few weeks or as much as a couple of months when she found a job or a new boyfriend. Yet she never seemed able to keep either for long. Barely skin and bones, she’d been like a bundle of live electrical wires. Luke had wondered about drugs but never been sure. She had talked about the men, an ever-changing roster of them. He took it as a desperate need for love. His attempts to help her see that she would never find anything meaningful or lasting that way had been futile.
Once he’d graduated from college and gotten a good job, Luke had moved to a safer neighborhood in St. Louis. He’d tried to find Beth to let her know she could always come to him, but when he asked around about her, head shakes were his answer. In the following months, he’d gone back several times, hoping to see her by the bus stop. He was making good money now, and could help her, but she was never there. Eventually, she had faded from his thoughts.
He had cared for Elizabeth Miller, pitied her . . . but he had never gone to wherever she lived, or had her to his apartment. He had held her when she cried, but not so much as kissed her. That wasn’t how he felt about her.
That girl with her mother’s eyes could not be his daughter.
“You obviously knew her,” Ms. Tanner said in accusation.
“I did. I haven’t—” He cut himself off, needing a moment to think. “What happened to her?”
“She died. She left a letter naming you as Abby’s father.” Her voice stayed firm. “Your name is on Abby’s birth certificate. She wanted us to find you.”
Had he been the only safe person that Beth, in her extremity, had been able to think of?
“Abby must have grandparents. Aunts and uncles, cousins . . .” None of whom Beth trusted with her daughter.
He wouldn’t have said he’d looked that closely at the little girl, but he pictured her now, seeing her mother in the shape of her face and eyes, the color of those eyes. Even in what he had guessed was her late twenties, Beth still had the rare pale blond hair. Abby’s hair had curls that might have come from her father.
Luke found himself fiercely glad that Beth had not named the true father, even if she’d known who he was, on her baby’s birth certificate. Then the Missouri Department of Social Services would have hunted him down, and if they had been foolish enough to leave this frail girl with him, Abby might well have been condemned to a childhood as terrible as her mother’s.
Luke frowned. If they knew the truth, would they allow him to foster her? Or another Amish family in his church district? John and Sarah Beiler had not been able to have children and would joyfully take Abby to raise. He could tell Ms. Tanner that he knew Beth had been raised Amish.
But he held his tongue, too aware of the contempt and even anger bureaucrats in government institutions felt for the Amish. Without her certainty that he was the father, this social worker would never have brought Abby to him. Thinking that, she’d have had no other choice however she felt about his religion and lifestyle.
In that instant, he made a decision. This was one last thing he could do for the young woman he had tried to help. It was a big thing, one that would start with a lie, but God must want him to accept Abby Miller as his daughter, or He wouldn’t have brought her to Luke’s doorstep.
He realized Ms. Tanner had been talking. While thinking, he hadn’t really listened to what she’d said, but the gist wasn’t unexpected. She had had no success tracing other family. If he didn’t take in Abby, she would go permanently into foster care. At her age, it was possible she’d be adopted, but he recognized that she might have problems that would reduce her appeal to couples shopping for the ideal child of their dreams.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I knew Beth was pregnant, but she took off. She was . . .” He stopped.
The social worker nodded, accepting what he didn’t say.
Glancing uneasily toward the closed door separating them from Julia and the child, he asked, “Does Abby have any toys?”
Ms. Tanner pushed the file folder toward him before she went out to the car to get a suitcase that apparently held Abby’s few possessions. While she was gone, he opened the file. On top was the birth certificate. As he had guessed, Abby was really named Abigail, a popular name among the Amish. Beth had fled her upbringing, yet held enough regret at least to want this tiny girl to be raised by a man who had shared that faith. Or had she guessed that, in the end, he would return to his roots?
Below the birth certificate but atop other paperwork was an envelope with his name on it, written by hand. Picking it up, he was surprised to find it still sealed. Under the circumstances, he would have understood if the social worker had opened it. Not knowing what Beth had needed to say to him, he found himself grateful Ms. Tanner had considered the letter private.
No matter what, while writing to him, Beth would have prayed it found him. This would be the last time he’d hear her voice. Now wasn’t the time. He took the letter and placed it facedown on the high workbench before he followed the social worker back out to the front of the store.
He’d barely had a chance to wonder where Julia and Abby were when a toilet flushed and then water ran. Julia carried Abby from the bathroom available to employees and customers. Seeing him, Abby buried her face against Julia’s neck.
Panic struck Luke hard. Did a three-year-old need help to get on the toilet? He’d never had such responsibilities, even for his youngest sister. Miriam had had Mamm, and Luke’s older sister had still been home then. Grossmammi, too. Luke had done more for Elam, but he was a boy.
Julia mouthed, “Where is she?” a second before Melissa Tanner appeared on the sidewalk outside the front window of the store carrying a small, battered suitcase.
He smiled at Abby. “Did you have a cookie?”
She hunched her shoulders, her arms visibly tightening on her protector.
Julia glanced down at her, furrows between her brows, but said cheerfully, “She did. They were good, weren’t they, honey? Miriam brought them yesterday.”
She had to let Ms. Tanner back in and he realized she’d thought to turn the sign back to Closed and lock the door so they weren’t interrupted. Smart and good-hearted, both.
He wouldn’t like seeing contempt in her eyes if she believed he’d knowingly abandoned his own child, but he was nonetheless grateful she was here.
The small suitcase, unzipped atop the reception counter, held only a skimpy collection of clothing as well as a few toys that appeared new. Purchased by the Missouri Department of Social Services? He thought not. Either the foster mother had spent her own money, or this bulldog of a woman had.
Julia chose a simple puzzle and sat behind the desk with Abby on her lap, nodding gently to Luke. He didn’t think Abby had actually looked at him yet, but she had relaxed with Julia, showing no inclination to rush back to Melissa. Having Julia to take charge allowed him to take deeper breaths.
He needed more information, and Ms. Tanner returned willingly with him to the workshop. She didn’t know as much as he’d hoped she would. Nothing of what Ms. Tanner did tell him came as a surprise. Beth had died of a drug overdose, track marks up and down her arms.
“She didn’t have those when I knew her,” he said, “but she was . . . jittery. I wondered about drugs.”
Ms. Tanner nodded. “I doubt she turned to heroin until after Abby was born. Thank God.”
Their eyes met briefly. He thought she’d meant that sincerely, not as the throwaway auslanders sometimes used the name of the Lord.
“She’s had a physical and been given immunizations,” she told him. “We had no way of knowing if she’d had vaccines as an infant, so the pediatrician started her at the beginning.”
“I don’t know if Beth would have allowed her to be vaccinated or not,” he said. “My impression is that she grew up in an ultra-conservative group of Amish. They might not have allowed them.” He thought she had been t
orn every day between what she’d been taught and believed, and the determination to destroy that very thing, which turned out to be herself.
The social worker’s eyes narrowed in renewed suspicion. “Abby needs the next round in six weeks. Will you see to it that she gets her vaccines?”
“Yes. I promise. We know the shots are important. I had them myself.”
After a moment, she nodded. “Abby was also evaluated by a psychologist. Although she is a little behind her age group in physical development and play, we think that’s because of neglect, not prenatal damage.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” The Beth he’d known would have tried not to use drugs while she was pregnant. She might have hated herself, but never an innocent child.
“It’s been hard to judge her speech, because she doesn’t talk.”
“At all?” he asked, alarmed.
“Her foster mother reports hearing her quietly singing, but I haven’t. Otherwise . . . no. Even if a test hadn’t confirmed that she hears fine, it’s obvious she understands what’s said to her. Whether she was punished for being loud—”
He frowned. “Beth wouldn’t have done that.”
“A man she lived with might have. As her mother’s . . . health deteriorated, we can’t know what kind of care Abby got.”
As Beth sank deeper into addiction, she meant. He had to nod. Melissa was right. Even when he knew Beth, she’d lacked the patience and maturity to be a mother. Later . . . he didn’t like to think what this child had endured.
“You’re willing to accept responsibility for your daughter?”
He pushed back renewed panic. What did he know about being a parent?
“Ja.” Why had that slipped out? “Yes, of course I am.” So many lies, but for a good cause, he told himself. And this one wasn’t such a big lie, only saying that the little girl was his daughter. The responsibility part was truth.
Sounding sharp again, the social worker said, “In most instances, I wouldn’t be enthusiastic about placing a child on my caseload with an Amish family.”
He tried not to take offense. “We raise our children with love. She will have fewer toys than she would in an Englisch home, and there will be no television or electronic games, but I’ll read her stories and she’ll have fun. I have a large family, Ms. Tanner. They’ll welcome her with open arms. My parents live nearby, and I have a younger brother and sister who both still live at home. Here in the area I have a married sister, aunts, uncles and cousins.” So many, he couldn’t count them. He didn’t lack for family.
Her face might have softened, but the doubt still remained. “I’ll be frank. One of my biggest reservations about people of your faith is your refusal to allow your children more than eight years of education.”
“More education would pull our children away from their families and church.” He understood that, even as he had mixed feelings. “Some young men and women do take technical courses beyond what our schools offer, and many become apprentices.” He hesitated. “Others leave to continue their education. You probably know that I did.”
“I might not be here if I hadn’t learned that, Mr. Bowman.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Our young people are allowed a few years to run a little wild, sample some of what the outside world offers. Abby will have that chance before she chooses to be baptized. Should she long for a college education, I will be afraid she is turning her back on her upbringing, as my parents were afraid, but I’ll support her anyway.” And pray, as Mamm and Daad had for him, that what she’d lost would come to outweigh the excitement and challenges outside their faith.
This nod seemed decisive. “I know you’re not prepared for her to stay today. I can give you time to—”
“You don’t need to do that. I have a second bedroom set up for my brother, who sometimes spends the night. I can take her home right now, get her settled.”
“You’re not married?”
“Not yet, but I will be. Abby needs to have sisters and brothers.” And a mother, perhaps most of all. Seeing Melissa’s continued reluctance, he asked, “Is she especially attached to her foster parents . . . ?”
“No, she seems happiest with her own company. Are you sure, Mr. Bowman? This is a huge commitment.”
“I’m sure.” Yet another lie. His conscience writhed, but he felt something already for a little girl who needed love and family more than anybody he had ever seen. “She will enjoy riding in a buggy on the way home.”
“I’ll want to check on her a few times.”
He expected that, was even glad she cared enough to make sure Abby was all right.
“You are welcome,” he said simply. He gave her his home address and the phone number for the telephone that sat out in a shanty on the road. Four neighbors shared it.
She went through papers with him, including the medical records, and had him sign in several places. Of course, she was momentarily frustrated that he could show her no official identification, but by this time she’d become resigned to the fact that, as an Amishman, he couldn’t comply with her usual requirements.
In what seemed like no time, he watched as she said goodbye to Abby, who scarcely acknowledged her. In fact, she squeezed closer to Julia. After a last brisk nod, Melissa left. When the door closed behind her, Luke’s stomach stirred unpleasantly, and his eyes didn’t quite want to focus. This dizziness felt as if he’d turned too many somersaults.
He didn’t ask God if he had done the right thing, because he couldn’t have turned away this child. What Luke did was pray that Beth could know that her precious daughter was with him. Safe. Sure to be loved.
What would happen if he touched her? Crouched to her level and tried to make her meet his eyes? Was she afraid of men, or just shy? He dreaded finding out.
His first thought had been to take her directly to his parents’ house, but then he remembered Mamm didn’t feel well. What if she had a contagious sickness?
Now he faced the dilemma of what to do next.
Better to take her home, just the two of them . . . except that the long day yawned ahead, with him having no idea of the real needs of a child this age. Especially one already afraid to cry or scream or say what she wanted. He needed help. Elam would be long since at work, and probably useless anyway. And male, if Abby feared men. Rose . . . but he hated the idea of abandoning Abby with yet another stranger.
* * *
* * *
SEEING PERTURBED LINES on Luke’s face, Julia had a good idea where his thoughts had taken him. Still grappling with how this had happened, she didn’t want to believe he’d known he had a child out there and just abandoned her with her mother, but Julia sympathized no matter what. At least having come from a big family, he’d be a better instant parent than many men—or than she would be, for that matter.
So quickly, though, she felt tenderness for this child. Julia had been much older when bad things happened to her, but she had shut down, too. She recognized what Abby was experiencing, and wondered if Abby hadn’t instinctively recognized the same in this woman she didn’t know. She hadn’t protested being left with her, and had allowed herself to relax in Julia’s arms.
“You can’t take her to your parents,” she blurted.
He tore his gaze from Abby and looked at Julia, visibly shaken. “I know. I think I have to take her home. It might be best if we close for the day, once you’ve listened to messages to be sure there’s nothing urgent.”
Feeling more timid, she said, “It’s not that busy out here. I can keep her with me while you get at least a little work done, and . . . maybe you could go out and buy us lunch. Or watch her while I do. She’ll probably nap later. I’m . . . enjoying having her.”
“She’s not your responsibility.”
Julia bit her lip. “I’m offering. But . . . you’d probably rather take her to family. I just though
t, well, that you’d have a few hours to think.”
His laugh was a harsh sound. No, painful. “I want to believe God will guide me, but I was one man when I got out of bed this morning and am now another.”
She could see that he didn’t like feeling out of his element. What strong man did, Amish or not?
Quietly, she said, “We know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”
He looked sharply at her, no doubt recognizing the passage from Romans, probably surprised that she would know her Bible.
Summoning another small moment of courage to say what she thought he needed to hear, Julia made sure to hold his gaze. “Haven’t you been called to be a father? Don’t you think most men fear at some point that they’ll fail their child? I’ll bet your daad would say the same.” She glanced down; Abby was listening, although Julia couldn’t imagine that she fully understand what they were talking about.
Luke didn’t hide his indecision.
Stung, although she had no reason to be, Julia suggested, “I can go down to the quilt shop and offer to take Miriam’s place so that she can help you with Abby.”
He stared at her with those unnervingly blue eyes for so long, she was ready to thrust his daughter at him and bolt. But then he shook his head, one side of his mouth curving up.
“No,” he said softly. “My daughter trusts you.” He paused. “I trust you.”
Chapter Eight
HEARING LUKE’S BUGGY the next morning, Elam emerged from the chicken coop. Any excuse to escape a chore he hated.
Luke reined in Charlie and said in Deitsh, “I can smell you from here.” After a harrowing night, he’d made the decision to find out if his mother was recovered, leaving the house extra early to catch his father still home, too. He couldn’t keep depending on a young unmarried Englisch woman, especially one who already disturbed him.
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