“What if she gets busy?”
“Then she can always call for help.”
“She’s not one of us.”
“No, she’s not, but she’s a kind, devout woman who is good with Abby. Abby was raised Englisch and does not speak our language. You saw what happened when I forced too much change on her.”
His daad didn’t like it, but finally nodded.
“Come, let’s see how they’re doing,” Luke suggested.
Upon opening the door, the first thing he heard was “What pretty hair you have!”
Pretty was not how he’d describe the tangled mess.
His father raised his eyebrows just a little. He must be thinking the same.
“Oops!” Julia exclaimed, a smile in her voice. “I pulled too hard. Now it’s your turn.”
Your turn?
Sitting on the counter with her lower legs dangling, Abby reached out and gave a lock of Julia’s hair a tug. They both laughed. So—they had made a bargain.
And Abby laughing! What a wonder that was!
As Luke and his daad watched, unnoticed, Julia gently worked at a mat near the ends of Abby’s long hair. To Luke’s astonishment, most of her hair already lay smooth, wavy instead of lumpy.
“Pigtails,” Julia mused aloud. “I think that’s what we’ll do with your hair. Have you ever worn it that way?”
Abby’s thin shoulders lifted in a shrug.
“I’ll bet your dad knows how to braid hair. Or we can teach him. What do you think?”
Abby’s head bobbed.
She wanted him to do her hair? The squeeze of happiness in Luke’s chest took him by surprise. He would have told anyone he was happy, once he had confessed his sins before the members of his church and received unhesitating forgiveness. Now he knew: contentment was not quite the same thing.
Thank you, Lord.
Eli touched his arm. The two men silently withdrew.
Once they were closeted in the workroom, Luke’s father said, “That is not the same little girl I saw yesterday.”
“No.”
“Bishop Amos will not like it,” his daad said thoughtfully, “but this was best for Abby. Wean her away from Julia, we must do, as soon as possible.”
“But not too quickly,” Luke agreed, because his father was right. Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers, he reminded himself, even as he felt a flicker of rebellion he knew to be wrong.
Chapter Ten
JULIA FOUND PURE joy in a day spent entertaining Abby while also managing the phones and talking to the tourists who wandered into the store, all of whom beamed at the cute little girl. Julia had once considered becoming a teacher, but hadn’t finished the coursework. Now, she wondered if she could go back to school, perhaps even online, and finish the requirements. But she also feared that this craving wasn’t to spend time with any child, but specifically Abby.
At the end of the day when Luke came in to get Abby, he smiled first at his daughter and then at Julia. “You two look as if you had a good day.”
“We did.”
The pigtails had come and gone. Abby’s hair was now in an elaborate French braid that wrapped her head before releasing a side ponytail. When Julia took her to the bathroom and lifted her so she could see in the mirror, Abby glowed with delight.
Watching as Luke studied his daughter, Julia remembered how the Amish felt about anything they regarded as “fancy” and knew she shouldn’t have introduced Abby to a hairstyle that definitely qualified as such.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t think.”
His blue eyes met hers. “Right now, if she had fun, that’s what matters. I’ll explain to my parents.”
She nodded. A lump in her throat, she asked, “Will you leave her with your mother tomorrow?”
“No. She’s happy. Do you know what a gift that is?”
All Julia could do was nod again. Yes, she of all people marveled at true happiness. I want to steal his child, she thought in shame, but . . . he had been part of what made the day special. Every hour or so, he’d come out front to see what they were doing, and he’d insisted on bringing lunch for all of them, eating with them. Julia saw how much progress Luke and Abby had made; he spoke naturally to her, and she responded readily, albeit still without words. And now, she took his hand without any sign of fear.
“If you don’t mind . . .” he added.
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then we’ll see you in the morning. Right, little one?”
Abby broke away from him to rush to Julia for a last hug, which she reciprocated fervently. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Not until they were gone. She was able to hold back her tears since Luke waited while she locked the front door and got her purse. The three walked out together. Eli, she was relieved to discover, had already left.
She itched to ask whether his father disapproved of having her care for his new granddaughter, but couldn’t in front of Abby. She knew it really wasn’t her business, anyway. In fact, did she even need to ask? Of course Eli wouldn’t be happy to depend on an Englischer, the kind of woman who would unthinkingly encourage his granddaughter to think of herself as pretty. The Amish had chosen to be of the world, but separate. She wasn’t one of them.
Luke held Abby so that she could pet Charlie’s sleek cheek and giggle when he blew bubbles from his lips.
“I gave him carrot sticks this morning,” Julia said. “I think he likes them better than Abby does.”
Abby wrinkled her nose, and both adults laughed.
Julia held her while he harnessed the gelding and was ready to place her on the seat. Then Julia backed away, digging in her purse for her keys.
“Well, goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waved even as she wondered what Luke was thinking as he stood watching her in turn while she hurried the few feet down the alley to her car. But by the time she started it, the buggy had reached the end of the alley and was turning to circle the block and go north out of town.
Hoping the air-conditioning would kick in soon, Julia took out her phone and called her brother.
“Will you be home if I come over and make dinner?” she asked.
A smile in his voice, he said, “You think I’m stupid enough to say no?”
His obvious pleasure lifted her spirits as she headed for the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for a favorite casserole.
* * *
* * *
THE MOMENT HIS mother set eyes on Abby’s hairstyle, she said, “How did that happen? Let me take her hair down, now.” Schnell, was what she said. Fast.
As Mamm advanced on his daughter, she scuttled behind him.
“Won’t you like having your hair brushed?” Mamm coaxed, circling him.
Abby shook her head vehemently, gripping his trousers in both hands. He found himself rotating to stay between her and his mother. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miriam working at the kitchen counter. She’d turned to watch.
“Mamm, let it go,” he said.
“She must learn to be Amish. You know that. In fact, I need to measure her so I can make her first dresses. She can’t keep going around like this.” Her forehead puckered. “I can ask Rose if she has any the right size packed away.”
“She has her own family.”
Her mouth tightened, but she understood what he meant. Amishmen pretended not to notice when a woman was pregnant, but his sister definitely was. The new baby could be a girl.
Frustrated that his usually warmhearted mother thought Abby could be fixed instantly, turned into a proper Amish girl overnight, he said firmly, “There’s no hurry. We must take slow steps.”
Miriam opened her mouth but closed it without saying a word when their father laid his hand on his wife’s arm. Startled, she turned her head and saw his slight headshake, then sighed and sai
d, “Ja, ja. But I can start sewing, can’t I?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll bring one of Abby’s dresses. You can use that for her size.” Did she have one? So far, she had picked out her own clothes, pink leggings and one of a couple of faded T-shirts festooned with glitter that was falling off.
Just to improve the evening, a knock on the back door announced the arrival of a visitor. Luke couldn’t help noticing that his mother didn’t look surprised. When she let in none other than Bishop Amos Troyer, he knew why she’d wanted to transform Abby instantly.
Greeting the family, the bishop studied the little girl hiding behind her daadi.
His bushy, graying eyebrows rose.
Luke braced himself. “Bishop Amos.”
Force of personality made Amos more imposing than he was physically. In fact, he stood maybe five foot eight inches and was thin. His hair was still mostly brown, but, like his eyebrows, his long wiry beard was well threaded with steel gray. Luke had seen him stern more than a few times, but he was loved by his church members for his kindness as well as his wisdom.
“Ach,” he said mildly, “so this is the child I’ve heard so much about.”
Now, that was pointed. Luke hoped his wince wasn’t visible. He really should have made time to stop to talk to the bishop.
“This is my Abby,” he agreed, hearing pride in his voice. “She’s a sweet girl, isn’t that so, Daad?”
“She is,” his father said with a smile. “Come, sit down, Amos! Deborah, he’ll surely want a cup of coffee.”
She beamed. “Can you stay for dinner? It won’t be half an hour.”
“No, no, Nancy will be expecting me. I shouldn’t stay long.”
“A slice of peach pie, then. I’ll send you home with a pie.”
“How can I refuse?” He moved to take a chair at one side of the table. “Luke, sit with me, will you?”
Luke nodded and bent to pick up Abby, resting her on his hip. He sat across the table from the bishop, settling her on his lap, enclosed in his arms with her face buried against his chest.
“Abby, I’d like you to meet Amos Troyer. He has at least one granddaughter your age who I bet will be a good friend for you.”
She stiffened.
With a soundless sigh, he lifted his head. “Too much has changed for Abby. She’s still shy.”
“Ja, so I see.” He softened his voice. “I’m glad to meet you, Abby. Your daadi is right, I have a granddaughter named Leah who is three years old. She’d like to have a friend like you.”
No response, but Luke hadn’t expected one.
“She’s getting used to us,” he explained. “I don’t want to hurry her.” He prayed that the bishop wouldn’t hear a challenge in that.
Amos smiled his thanks to Luke’s mother, who set a cup of coffee and a slice of pie in front of him. Eli took a seat as well, accepting coffee but shook his head at the offer of pie, as did Luke. They could both smell the sourdough biscuits in the oven and the hot potato salad. Behind him, Luke heard the sizzle as his mother put chicken into a cast-iron skillet to fry. On her way to the cellar, Miriam gave him a wink once she was far enough past the bishop to be sure he wouldn’t see her.
Miriam understood, he knew. She had stopped by today, both to bring cookies and to visit with Abby and Julia. Luke had cracked the door once and heard her quizzing Julia on Pennsylvania Dutch vocabulary. He wasn’t sure why Julia was so determined to learn his language, but he liked the idea.
After eating a few bites, Amos said, “We need to talk another time, I think.” When Abby wasn’t listening, he meant. “Sunday after worship?”
Luke nodded.
“Sarah will be glad for Leah to find a new friend.” Sarah was Amos’s daughter.
Sunday would be ideal, Luke thought; he and the bishop could walk away from the others for a talk, but if Abby panicked, he’d be nearby.
“That will be good,” Luke agreed. Truthfully, he dreaded having to get Abby through a three-hour worship service, of which she wouldn’t understand a word, or the need to sit still and attentive. Had her mother even talked to her about their heavenly Father? Perhaps three was too young to expect much. Well, they had to start, so why not this week? Sarah would be a good one to advise him, without the friction he sometimes had with his own married sister, it occurred to him.
Once the bishop had departed and only family sat down to eat dinner, Abby gradually relaxed enough to nibble at her own serving. When Miriam spoke to her, she even peeked at her and once shook her head.
Good, Luke told himself in relief. First Miriam, then Mamm. It wouldn’t be that long before he could leave Abby with family while he worked.
But not yet.
That acknowledgment brought a different kind of relief. Only because Julia had such a way with Abby, as if they had always known each other.
He didn’t look forward to separating them permanently.
* * *
* * *
AFTER HE WAS certain Abby slept, Luke took the envelope from the drawer where he had hidden it and sat down at his kitchen table. His reluctance to read Beth’s last words to him hadn’t lessened, and he scarcely knew why. This was important; he shouldn’t have put it off. Perhaps he feared a surprise, like the names and address of her parents or a sister or brother she’d prefer to raise her little girl. No—he knew better. If she’d trusted any family member, she wouldn’t have put his name on the birth certificate. What he truly feared was that reading the final words she had to say to him would be a sharp reminder that she really was dead—and he hadn’t done all he could to help her.
He did believe that she was now with God, perhaps even watching over Abby, and yet he felt the tragedy of her life. The gentle, sweet young woman he’d known had deserved to find happiness in this life, too.
He bowed his head and prayed.
And those who know Your name will put their trust in You; for You, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You.
The hard part was accepting that he would never know God’s purpose, that his trust must be blind.
“Help me quiet my anger, these doubts,” he murmured.
He turned to a passage from Psalms that had spoken powerfully to him when he realized his dissatisfaction with the outside world, seeing that, for him, the greed and unrelenting ambition, the need to rush through life without appreciating any single moment, the desire to take that was more common than the wish to give, all outweighed the satisfaction he had gained from using his talent for understanding numbers and patterns.
Aloud but softly, so as not to awaken Abby, he said, “As for me, I will call upon God, and the Lord shall save me. Evening and morning and at noon I will pray, and cry aloud, and He shall hear my voice. He has redeemed my soul in peace from the battle that was against me. What had He to fear, with the Lord His light and salvation?”
Luke tore open the envelope and slowly read the childishly printed letter.
Dear Luke,
I’m real sick, but today is good so I’m writing this. I feel as if death is tapping me on the shoulder. I’d like to think God is summoning me, although He’ll have stern things to say, for sure. I deserve them all. Don’t feel sad for me. You almost convinced me that God’s forgiveness is absolute and I don’t have to be afraid.
I know you understand why I never told you about Abby. I wish so much I had. I should have looked for you sooner. I hope so much this letter finds you, although I fear only He can accomplish that. If He does . . . I’m begging you to keep Abby with you and be the daddy she needs so much. Raise her the way you were raised—with love and laughter and faith. If you’ve married, I pray your wife is willing and will love Abby as much as she deserves. I have no doubt at all that you will.
I love her, I do, but I look at her and know how I’ve failed her. You’re not a man who would ever fail anyone who depends on you. I wis
h I could have trusted myself to you.
With what faith I have left,
Beth
She’d been more eloquent than he could have imagined. She’d told him she liked to read, so maybe in her own way Beth had continued her education.
Mostly, the letter wrung his heart and stiffened his resolve. Whatever came, he would live up to her faith in him—as God would offer her both forgiveness and a warm welcome.
* * *
* * *
HIS FATHER HAD begun looking askance at Luke when he took breaks every couple of hours to check on Abby. Luke understood why but felt resentment anyway.
Dismayed by the emotion, he realized anew that he hadn’t won the battle between his deep faith and the fierce need for independence that had driven him away from his church and community all those years ago. He’d genuinely believed he had returned home a humble man, accepting that the path his life took was God’s will. From time to time, he worried that he took too much pride in his craftsmanship and in the finished furniture. Hochmut—pride—was not a quality the Amish admired. It helped that he considered the pieces his father had made as well as the products of several other area furniture makers equal to his own work. Taking pleasure from a job well done couldn’t be wrong, he had mostly convinced himself.
But Abby’s arrival had triggered something in him. Surrendering himself to God’s will as interpreted by the bishop was one thing; giving up his right to make decisions for this troubled girl was another.
His child in the ways that counted.
He knew his father and Bishop Amos would call his belief that he knew best hochmut. They were right, he had no doubt. And yet . . .
The sound of the saw his father was using drowned out his groan.
Driven by the same need to be sure his dochder was safe and well that had plagued him since he’d accepted responsibility for her, he set down the chisel that he’d been using and pushed through the door into the front of his store without looking back at his father.
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