Minding the Amish Baby

by Carrie Lighte

  He cleared his throat and said quietly, “Mercy isn’t my dochder.”

  Tessa pulled the wrapper off her straw and casually replied, “She isn’t mine, either, but we couldn’t let the waitress know that, could we?”

  Tessa’s lighthearted response filled Turner with such warmth he felt like leaping across the table and embracing her and Mercy both. Instead he replied, “Neh, we couldn’t.” He paused to catch her eye before adding, “Although if you were her mamm, I think she’d be fortunate to inherit your nose. You have an elegant profile.”

  “Denki,” Tessa murmured, dipping her head as she dabbed a french fry into a little pool of ketchup.

  Switching the subject, Turner said, “I’m often taken aback by the comments Englischers make, but it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

  Tessa shrugged. “I used to be uncomfortable having conversations with them when I first started working at Schrock’s. I was always on edge, afraid they’d ask something too intrusive and I wouldn’t know how to respond. But then I realized they’re just curious about me. Or about the Amish way of life. They intend no harm. And sometimes they even mean to be complimentary, like that waitress.”

  Turner was skeptical. “Their questions don’t nettle you at all?”

  “On occasion, jah. But when that happens, I switch the topic or respond with a curt but congenial reply. Or else I meet their remark with silence, just like I would when an Amish acquaintance asks a question I consider nosy or inappropriate. Besides, some of the Englisch believe in Gott and it’s interesting to hear them talk about their beliefs, even if they have a different way of living out their Christian faith than we do.”

  When Tessa put it that way, Turner realized she wasn’t being naïve; in fact, she had more wisdom—and charitableness—than he did. He still might not trust most Englischers, but his confidence in Tessa was growing by the hour.

  Chapter Five

  Once again on Saturday there was a long line of customers at Schrock’s, some of whom were unusually ill-mannered.

  One woman barked at Tessa for giving her the wrong change. When she slapped the money on the counter and demanded Tessa recount it, Tessa obliged, proving she’d given the woman the correct amount due her. The customer then swept the money from the counter, shoved it in her purse and walked away without a word of apology. Another customer toppled a box of candles, and someone else allowed his child to handle one of the wooden tractors while sucking a fat lollipop. When the father was finished browsing, he set the sticky toy back on the shelf, which caused the child to scream and kick until the father promised him a chocolate milkshake at lunch.

  “Tessa, you must have nerves of steel not to be fazed by the rush of customers,” Joseph commented during a quiet spell. “I appreciate how patient you’ve been this morning.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Tessa said.

  Everything was Tessa’s pleasure that day, primarily because the evening before last Turner had told her she had an elegant profile. Tessa wasn’t ordinarily given to thoughts about her appearance, as she knew vanity was a sin, but if there was one physical feature she used to wish she could change, it was her nose.

  As a girl, she wasn’t even aware she had a prominent nose until a classmate told her it stuck out like a chicken’s beak. After that she became self-conscious and frequently stole away to her family’s washroom to angle a hand mirror against the mirror above the sink so she could study her nose from the side. Tessa had realized she was being vain, just as she had realized she was growing envious of all the girls at school who had little round noses. But one day when the same boy repeatedly called her “Beaky” under his breath, Tessa asked to be excused. She told the teacher she felt sick, which meant she was lying in addition to being envious and vain. Wracked with guilt, she hid behind a tree in the schoolyard and cried until school let out and Katie walked her home.

  “The Lord gave you a nose just like your daed’s, and I think it makes him look distinctive,” her mother had said when Tessa finally confessed what had happened. “One day someone will think the same way about you. But it’s more important to focus on what’s in someone’s heart than what’s on someone’s face. Now dry your eyes and help me peel these potatoes for supper.”

  As Tessa had matured, she was able to brush it off when others commented on the size or shape of her nose until her first suitor asked her, without a hint of derision, how she’d broken it.

  “I’ve never broken my nose!” she’d declared.

  The young man had appeared mortified. “I’m sorry. I just assumed...”

  Although he hadn’t meant to be insulting, Tessa had been offended all the same. So she was delighted when Turner said he liked the very thing about her face other people considered unattractive or peculiar. More than that, she was euphoric Turner was so chivalrous as to treat her to supper, knowing how hungry she’d be if she waited until they returned home to eat.

  Far from feeling at a loss for what to discuss during their meal, Tessa had been utterly engaged in conversation with him. Like other young men she knew, Turner talked about buggies, but his emphasis wasn’t on the vehicle as a prized possession but on his work at the shop. A spark lit his eyes when he gave examples of the challenges he and his brothers encountered, both with repairs and with their customers. As he spoke, his facial muscles visually relaxed and he leaned back against the booth seat, occasionally using his hands to illustrate an anecdote. It was clear he found his profession fulfilling. Tessa could have listened to his resonant voice all evening, but he was careful not to monopolize the conversation, and asked about her family and clerking at Schrock’s. Since Mercy was so content, they took their time eating, lingering over a banana split for dessert, which they shared.

  As Tessa reflected on that evening, she couldn’t help humming, and the afternoon sailed by even quicker than the morning. When Joseph locked the door behind the final customer, Tessa worked with unusual efficiency to perform the chores that needed to be completed before she left. The sooner I get home and eat, the sooner I’ll be able to visit Mercy and Turner, she thought.

  Tessa was putting a new bag in the trash bin when Joseph invited her to join his family for supper that evening. Usually, she’d jump at the chance to eat one of Amity’s delicious meals and spend the evening playing board games with their rambunctious young brood, but tonight Tessa racked her brain for a polite yet truthful way to decline Joseph’s offer. Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning: tonight she was hosting the potluck supper. In her giddiness over her evening out with Turner, she’d completely forgotten about the party.

  “Denki, I would like to but I can’t. I’m hosting guests at my house tonight.”

  “Ah well, perhaps another time,” Joseph said. “I’ll finish up here since I have to wait for Amity and the kinner to pick me up. You can go ahead and go home. Bundle up. It looks like it’s snowing again.”

  Exiting through the back door, Tessa regretted that she hadn’t worn her heavier cloak and a scarf when she’d left the house that morning. For a few seconds, she hoped the bad weather might prevent her guests from coming so she could visit Turner and Mercy instead, but she knew that was improbable. The snow was fluffy, not heavy, and even if it kept up, her sister and friends could easily transverse the roads by horse and buggy.

  She’d made her way down the back alley and was nearing the parking lot behind the mercantile that was used by cars as well as buggies, when she looked up and noticed a figure waving at her.

  “Tessa!” the man called.

  As he passed beneath the street lamp, she could see it was Jeremy. Tessa momentarily stopped cold in her tracks before hugging her cloak to her chest and sidestepping him. She didn’t have time for his antics. “I’m in a hurry, Jeremy. I need to get home. Excuse me.”

  “Please wait,” Jeremy said, following at her elbow. “I’m not going to make a spectacle of myself again. I want to ap
ologize to you for my behavior last week. I’m very sorry. There’s no excuse for my behavior, and it doesn’t reflect the respect I have for you and your beliefs. I hope in time you’ll forgive me.”

  Tessa stopped to face him. She was shivering but she wanted to look Jeremy in the eyes. She knew it took humility and courage for him to apologize. “I forgive you, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy’s voice squeaked as he said, “Thank you, Tessa. That means a lot to me.”

  She nodded. “I really do have to go now—”

  “Do you want a ride?” Jeremy offered. “You look cold and you said you’re in a hurry. My sister Donna is in the car waiting for me.”

  Tessa hesitated. The Amish were permitted to accept rides in cars from the Englisch and she still had to tidy the house before the guests arrived. She didn’t want Jeremy to doubt she was sincere about accepting his apology, and since his sister—who had given Tessa rides in the past—would be traveling with them, she didn’t have to worry about the impropriety of riding alone with an Englisch man. But Turner had indicated Jeremy wasn’t welcome on the property without an invitation from him, and Tessa wanted to respect his wishes.

  “That’s okay, I’ll walk.” Her bare fingertips were going numb.

  “I can drop you off at the end of your driveway, since I haven’t had a chance to apologize to your landlord yet and I know he doesn’t want me around.”

  This time, Tessa didn’t refuse. She scurried with him across the parking lot to his car. Since his back seat was stacked with oversize boxes of paper goods for the restaurant, she slid into the front seat next to Donna, who gave her an enthusiastic greeting and scooted closer to her brother. Jeremy had left the car running and the interior was toasty warm. Because she’d accepted a ride, Tessa figured she’d have enough time to prepare lemon squares for the party; they were her specialty, the one dessert she never burned or undercooked. She had forgotten to tell Turner about the potluck, but maybe before everyone arrived she’d run up to his place with a plate of lemon squares for him, too.

  * * *

  Turner stepped down and paced the length of his horse and buggy where he’d parked it in the lot behind the mercantile. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to gather his thoughts. The day had started off so well, with Mercy waking in a pleasant mood, smiling at Turner when he changed her and listening raptly whenever he carried her to the window and pointed out the snowflakes. He knew she probably couldn’t understand him, but he was delighted that she seemed enthralled with the sound of his voice.

  Still, after spending all day indoors Turner began to feel confined, which made him appreciate Tessa’s help all the more. Wanting to be as considerate of her as she’d been to him, he decided to pick her up after work so she wouldn’t have to walk home in the cold. He planned to ask if she wanted to share a pizza, which they could pick up on the other side of town and then eat at his house.

  Figuring he’d catch Tessa coming down the alley behind Main Street, Turner headed toward the parking lot behind the mercantile to watch for her. Rounding the corner, he spotted her beneath a street lamp. But instead of walking toward home, Tessa was getting into a car. He knew that car; it was Jeremy’s. Sure enough, he spotted Jeremy just as he opened the door to get in on the driver’s side. Turner pulled into the parking lot entrance as Jeremy’s car was driving out the exit at the opposite end.

  Now, stomping back and forth next to his buggy, Turner tried to make sense of why he felt so irked. Tessa technically wasn’t doing anything wrong; she was probably only getting a lift home. But it seemed inappropriate for her to accept a ride alone with an Englisch man. Didn’t she know that people might gossip? Turner had come to believe she had more discretion and exercised sounder judgment than that, but apparently he was mistaken. Furthermore, Tessa had heard him tell Jeremy he wasn’t welcome on the property without an invitation from Turner. Didn’t she have any regard for Turner’s wishes?

  Suddenly a voice behind him said, “Hello, Turner.”

  Turner was so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed anyone approach the lot. “Hello, Joseph.” He fiddled with the horse’s reins, as if that were the reason he was idling in the parking lot. “You can’t be too careful in this weather.”

  “Jah, that’s true,” Joseph agreed. “You know, I’m glad our paths crossed. Amity and I were just saying we don’t get to see you nearly as often as we’d like to. We hope you’ll call on us soon.”

  “Denki for the invitation.” Turner kept his response neutral. He felt deceptive enough pretending to adjust a rein that didn’t need adjusting; he wasn’t going to make false promises to Joseph, too.

  Just then Turner heard a faint whining. During the past week or so his ears had grown finely attuned to the sound: it meant Mercy was waking up. In a matter of two minutes, she might start wailing her lungs out. Turner wanted to skedaddle before Joseph heard her, but it was too late.

  “Do you hear a cat?” he asked.

  Turner cocked his head as if listening. “Neh, I don’t hear a cat” was all he could truthfully say. Fortunately, Joseph’s wife turned down the alley and the buggy made enough noise to drown out Mercy’s mewling.

  “I see Amity is here to pick you up,” Turner commented. “Better not delay. With the way the Englisch drive in snow, it’s best to get off the roads as soon as possible.”

  Joseph chuckled as he headed toward his family’s buggy. “We’ll see you around soon, I hope.”

  “Gut nacht, Joseph.” Turner said loudly, hoping his voice blocked out the sound of Mercy’s.

  As soon as he climbed into the buggy and spoke sweet nothings to Mercy, she quieted. And when the horse trotted back toward home, she sounded out, “Aah,” holding the syllable for a long time before repeating it as if it were a song. Turner, however, was far from singing. Rattled that his secret had nearly been exposed, he kneaded the muscle in his neck, which was tighter than it had been since before he’d gotten ill.

  Because his plans for the evening were ruined anyway and Mercy seemed satisfied to be nestled in her basket in the back, Turner decided to stop at the phone shanty. He situated his buggy so it obscured him and Mercy from view, lest any other buggies pass by. It had been weeks since he’d spoken to Louisa and, although it was unlikely, he hoped she might know more about Jacqueline’s current situation than he did. He could usually count on a teenager to pick up the phone at this time on a Saturday and today was no exception.

  “You must be very quiet,” Turner said to Mercy as he waited for the girl who answered the phone in Ohio to fetch Louisa from her house close by. The phone shanty Turner used was enclosed on three sides, more like a booth than a room, and Turner held Mercy in a seated position with her back to his chest, the way he’d seen Tessa do it. Tessa had crocheted a pink cap for the baby, and she was wearing it now. Snuggled in Turner’s arms, Mercy was content to watch the snowflakes as he wiggled her up and down.

  After exchanging brief pleasantries, Louisa said, “I’m afraid I’ve heard disturbing news. Remember I told you an acquaintance of Jacqueline’s recently said her cousin in Elmsville told her about an Amish maedel who ran away with an Englischer during her rumspringa and now works in a convenience store near Willow Creek?”

  “Jah.” Of course Turner remembered; that’s why he’d been searching the markets in his area. He sensed Louisa was reluctant to report whatever new information she’d heard.

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, Turner, but the maedel supposedly gave birth to a bobbel.”

  Louisa’s news would have shattered him, had Turner not already known about it. Although he felt guilty because Louisa was clearly in anguish over the rumor, Turner didn’t confirm what he knew. He couldn’t, not when Jacqueline had asked him not to.

  It sounded as if Louisa was sniffing. Turner had always known his aunt cared deeply for Jacqueline, but he’d been so absorbed by his own concerns he hadn’t fully considered that
Louisa felt like a mother to the young girl. She was probably as grieved by this news as he had been. On top of that, her husband was ailing after suffering a series of small strokes, so she was worried about him, too. Turner tried to think of something to say to console her.

  “As devastating as it would be if Jacqueline bore a bobbel, if the rumor is true at least we’d know she was still alive,” he said. Turner had never allowed himself to hint at his deepest fear until now. Soothed by Mercy’s presence, he added, “At least we’d still have hope she might one day return to us.”

  “Jah, that is our prayer.” Louisa continued slowly, “But supposedly this maedel is considering leaving the Amish altogether. The bobbel’s daed is a kind himself and doesn’t want anything to do with the bobbel or with her. It’s said she’s thinking of moving out of the region altogether. Maybe even giving up her bobbel.”

  Turner’s legs were jelly. Jacqueline wasn’t going to return? She was going to leave Mercy behind? The possibility caused his throat to burn and his lungs to constrict. He couldn’t fathom how Jacqueline could even contemplate leaving Mercy behind permanently. Just then the baby grunted and kicked her legs to let Turner know he’d stopped bouncing her and she wanted to keep moving. He automatically complied.

  “Turner?” Louisa was prompting him from his silence. “You know how rumors start in small communities. This one could be completely false. Or perhaps it’s not about Jacqueline at all.”

  “Perhaps not,” Turner managed to say. He pressed Louisa for more details about who Jacqueline’s acquaintances heard the rumor from; maybe he could track the person down and ask more questions. But apparently the gossip had been passed along so many times, even those repeating it weren’t sure where it originated. Turner finally bade Louisa good-night and then he and Mercy continued on their way. When he pulled up the lane to his house, he didn’t notice whether Jeremy’s car was at Tessa’s. He had far more pressing things on his mind.