The Baby Next Door

by Vannetta Chapman

  “I’m sure you did the best you could.”

  She studied him then, as if to see whether he really meant it. Finally, she said, “I hope you always believe that.”

  “Of course I do... I will.”

  They’d been to dinner at both Greta’s and Georgia’s. Adrian thought both of Grace’s schweschdern approved of their courting. At least they were polite to him, and their kinner were full of questions about his animals.

  He and Grace came to know one another’s childhood through those long walks. But a wall seemed to appear between them whenever they spoke of their teenage years. Adrian didn’t mind admitting the times he’d stepped outside their Ordnung. Once when he was fourteen, he’d tried to drive a car and ended up steering it into a ditch. Another time, he thought it was when he was sixteen but really couldn’t remember, he’d tried smoking and ended up coughing for an hour.

  Grace listened attentively to his stories, but she didn’t share any details about her own rumspringa.

  Adrian thought the whole idea of rumspringa had been overemphasized. Without fail, every single tour group asked him about the practice. Many of them had read about it in books or seen it depicted in television shows. He had no idea how accurate those things were. He could speak only to his own experience and that of his siblings. When he explained that rumspringa was a time for teens to try the Englisch world, to experience what they would vow to give up when they joined the church, the folks in the tour group invariably look baffled.

  “So your parents approve of your smoking and drinking?”

  “Nein. It’s not like that. It’s more that they want us to experience those things that we’re curious about before we give them up. Things like going to a movie in town or driving a car—or yes, even smoking a cigarette. They’d never give us money for cigarettes and if you know how much they cost...” At this point, several Englischers would always nod their understanding. “So you understand that it’s not like an Amish teen is going to run to town and buy a carton of smokes. There’s no way he or she could afford it!”

  He’d go on to explain that many of the things that happened during rumspringa were normal things for teens, but for Amish, it was more like poking a toe into the Englisch world.

  “What if a teenager decides they like it? Decides they enjoy movies at the cinema and cell phones?”

  “I can’t speak for everyone, but in my extended family, you’re usually shipped off to a Mennonite aenti or onkel at that point. Mennonites are very much like Amish but somewhat less strict. So they live there awhile before they make a decision. Of course they can come back anytime they want.”

  “No shunning?”

  “Shunnings are exceedingly rare these days, and I don’t mind admitting I’m glad. As our bishop once said, he’d never tell us we can’t see or speak with a family member. Gotte leads each person in a different way.”

  “Your bishop sounds pretty progressive.”

  Adrian had shrugged and turned the topic to his animals. But here and now, speaking with Grace, he thought about those conversations again. Even when they occurred during the meal they fed the tourists, Grace didn’t chime in.

  She didn’t speak of rumspringa publicly or privately.

  Instead, she’d change the subject or ask him another question.

  He hoped that the closer they became, the more comfortable she would feel sharing. But by July, he was beginning to suspect that might not ever happen. Which was okay with him. He loved Grace regardless of what silly antics she’d done during her rumspringa. After all, how bad could it be? She was in the new-member class. She was joining the church.

  Then the two letters arrived. One a day after the other.

  The first was penned in feminine handwriting and contained a single line. “Ask Grace about Nicole’s father.”

  There was no signature or return address. He’d tossed the letter onto his junk-mail pile, which threatened to topple off the kitchen counter, and given it little thought.

  Then the second letter arrived. It was rather more pointed. “You should know why Grace moved to Ohio before you decide to marry her.”

  That was signed “a friend.” Adrian somehow doubted that whoever had penned it was a friend. More than likely, it was someone who was sticking their nose where it didn’t belong.

  Adrian picked up the stack of junk mail including both letters, which were definitely junk, and carried them out to the old metal barrel where he burned trash. Throwing a match into the can and watching the paper flame, he frowned.

  Trash.

  That was what those letters were. They were rubbish. He didn’t know what motivated people to be nosy. He didn’t know why sometimes people—even gut people—treated one another poorly. But he did understand it was one of the reasons he was more comfortable with animals.

  Take Millie the blind albino donkey he’d recently acquired. Triangle would start barking anytime Millie ended up somewhere she shouldn’t be. Even Kendrick treated the donkey kindly—blocking the door to the aviary when Adrian inadvertently left it open. He didn’t have to worry about the birds flying out and not returning. They knew where the feeding stations were. He liked leaving the door open so the birds could enjoy the great outdoors.

  But a blind donkey in his aviary could create a real mess. Millie might even manage to get hurt. But she never went in, because Kendrick always blocked the way. He would find them in something of a standoff, with Millie trying to push her way in and Kendrick moving left, then right, then left again to impede her progress.

  Whenever that happened, Adrian would relocate Millie to her pasture and give Kendrick an extra treat.

  Animals seemed to display the very characteristics that were missing in people. Perhaps they were just looking out for their own unusual herd, but shouldn’t people do the same? Shouldn’t they lift one another up instead of bringing each other down?

  Adrian struggled with these questions as he attempted to give Grace the time and space she needed.

  The evening after he’d received—and burned—the second letter, he’d gone to see Grace as was his custom when she hadn’t stopped by during the day. It was mid-July, and they’d been properly courting more than two months.

  He had absolutely no intention of bringing up the letters, but he was irritated by them. As he and Grace sat on the back porch, watching Nicole toddle around her swing set, some of that irritation must have leaked out.

  “What’s bugging you?” Grace asked.

  “Nothing.” Then deciding that it was best to be as honest as possible, he added, “Why can’t people just do what’s right?”

  Grace took her eyes off Nicole to study him. “What do you mean? What people? And how are you sure what’s right?”

  “Just regular people.”

  “Not very specific.”

  “Let’s say—hypothetically—Plain people.”

  “Okay. And these Plain people did something wrong?”

  “Ya. They did.” It may have come out more forcefully than he intended, but this was Grace’s business they were poking around in. How dare they?

  “Maybe they didn’t know it was wrong.”

  “Anyone would.”

  “Maybe they couldn’t help themselves.”

  “Of course they could help themselves. It’s just easier to do the wrong thing, to give in to the wrong impulse. It’s easier to pretend you’re not Plain and to have a foot in both worlds. That’s not how we live, though. That’s not how we’re supposed to live. We’re supposed to be different.”

  “Oh, come on, Adrian. You’re not that uncharitable.”

  “I’m serious. Just do the right thing.”

  “Oh, it’s that simple, is it? Like when you know that you can’t afford another animal, but you adopt a blind donkey anyway?”

  “Millie’s adjusting quite well...and it’s not lik
e that at all. I’m talking about a moral choice where someone intentionally chooses wrong. It could hurt people, and they should be more responsible.”

  Grace stood up, arms crossed, a tiny frown forming between her eyes. He’d seen that look a few times. Bad things usually followed, but did he pay any heed to that warning in his head? Nein. He did not.

  “You are not perfect, Adrian Schrock.”

  “I never said I was.”

  “Maybe you haven’t been in an uncomfortable position, where choosing the wrong thing doesn’t seem like a choice at all.”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t be judging people.”

  “Who put a bee under your kapp today?”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “I do not have a bee under my kapp, and I’ll thank you not to make fun of me.”

  “I wasn’t making fun, Grace. I was only venting my feelings, is all. Can’t a man do that with his girlfriend?”

  “He can, but then he risks hearing the other side of an argument—something you don’t appear prepared to do.”

  Adrian felt his pulse accelerate and his body tense. He thought there might be smoke coming out of his ears. He was protecting her, but he couldn’t tell Grace that unless he wanted to confess all about the letters. And what good would that do? Now she was mad at him. Some days, women made no sense at all to him. He stood and slapped the hat he’d been holding back on his head.

  “Guess I should be going home.”

  “Fine. Go home.”

  “You don’t seem in the mood for visiting.”

  “No doubt your animals are better company than I am.”

  “When you’re acting like this... Ya, they are.”

  Which caused Grace’s face to turn a charming pink. She opened her mouth, raised her finger to shake it at him and then Nicole let out a scream that split the summer evening and caused all other concerns to fall away.

  * * *

  Grace was about to set Adrian straight. How could he think that he always knew what was right? He was no better than Deborah and Meredith, who she’d had about enough of. Their under-the-breath comments and superior looks had just about pushed her to the edge of her patience. Adrian wasn’t helping things, and it wasn’t her fault that he had picked this evening of all evenings to start an ethical debate.

  But when she opened her mouth to tell him exactly how wrong he was, Nicole’s scream stopped her short.

  Where was Nicole?

  Grace turned, saw her standing at the base of the yellow slide, covered in mud. How had she...?

  There hadn’t been rain in over a week.

  There wasn’t any mud.

  And then she was sprinting toward her doschder. She scooped her up and slapped at the ants that had covered her arms and legs.

  Adrian ran for the water hose and proceeded to squirt the ants off her, revealing dozens of large red welts. Dropping the hose, he said, “I’ll get your dat’s buggy.”

  He dashed around the house as her mamm came outside to see what was wrong. By the time they’d wrapped Nicole’s arms and legs in wet towels, then bundled her up in a summer blanket, Adrian had brought the horse and buggy around.

  Grace’s mamm pushed her purse into her hands. “Go. Straight to the hospital. We’ll bring Adrian’s buggy and be right behind you.”

  Adrian set their mare into a gallop.

  “How is she?” Adrian didn’t take his eyes off the road.

  “I don’t know. Nicole, honey. Look at me.”

  “Is she breathing okay?”

  “I think she is.”

  But in fact, Nicole seemed to be having trouble pulling in a good breath. Was she having an allergic reaction to the ant bites? Or was she breathless from her sobbing? She refused to be consoled. The ride to the hospital seemed to take hours and also seemed to happen instantly. One minute, Grace was standing in the backyard with her baby girl, and the next, they were rushing through the doors of the emergency room.

  The next hour was a blur.

  She filled out a clipboard full of forms, though she couldn’t have told anyone what she wrote on them.

  A nurse ushered her through a pair of double doors. She glanced back just once and saw Adrian standing in the middle of the room, his hat in his hands and a lost expression on his face. She wanted to run to him, to feel his arms around her and to apologize for flying off at him. She didn’t do any of those things. Instead, she carried Nicole into their assigned room and placed her on the bed.

  The nurse asked more questions.

  A doctor arrived and examined Nicole. “She’s having some difficulty breathing. This happens occasionally with allergic reactions. We’ll give her Benadryl through an IV drip. She’ll be right as rain in no time.”

  The nurses were good. They’d dealt with children many times through many different types of situations. One distracted Nicole with a puppet while another started the IV. The poke of the needle brought more cries from her doschder, but then she looked back at the puppet and seemed to forget the ouchie on her arm. The nurse placed a wrap around her arm—perhaps so Nicole wouldn’t attempt to mess with the IV. The wrap was decorated with bright flowers, and Nicole touched the yellow ones—alternately crying, hiccupping or calling out, “Yellow, Mamm. Yellow.”

  Grace had no idea how much time had passed when she heard a light tap on the door and looked up to see her mother standing there.

  And that was when the tears started.

  “It happened so fast. I should have been watching her more closely.”

  Nicole was curled on her side, now fast asleep. Grace’s mamm came in and sat down beside her, placing one hand on top of Grace’s hand and the other on her cheek. “I’m sorry, Grace. This is what being a mother is about. You can’t watch them all the time, and you can’t protect them from everything that will hurt them.”

  “Then it’s too hard. Being a mamm is too hard. I would rather have all of those ant bites—double the number, even—on me.”

  “Of course you would, but we don’t always have that choice. You did the right thing. You reacted quickly and kept your head on straight.”

  Grace didn’t answer that. Her mamm patted her arm, waited a few minutes and finally said, “Do you remember the time that you and Georgia disturbed that beehive and came running inside, screaming as if a pack of wolves was chasing you?”

  “I was five.”

  “You were. Georgia was seven. I blamed myself for that little incident. If only I’d been watching you more closely, if only I’d kept you inside, if only...”

  “One stung me on the eyelid.” Grace reached up and brushed a finger along the small scar. She hadn’t thought of that incident in years. The pain had been sharp and her eye had swollen instantly. She’d feared she would never be able to see again.

  “Your eye swelled completely shut. I rushed you to the hospital that day, just like you and Adrian rushed Nicole here tonight.”

  “And what did the doctors do?”

  “They gave you Benadryl in an IV and put a compress on your eye. Georgia had bites on her neck. She walked around for a week with her hands wrapped around her neck if she was outside. I felt like a terrible mamm.”

  “You were a gut mamm. You always were.”

  “Nein. I had my days where I was less than that, but I think you girls know how much I love you. That’s the true test. Isn’t it?”

  The doctor walked in and checked Nicole’s breathing. After he made a notation on his tablet, he looked at them and smiled. “She’s responding well to the Benadryl. We’ll want to see her awake and eating before we let her go home.”

  “So she can go tonight?”

  “Sure. She should be home by bedtime.”

  After the doctor left, her mamm pulled out some knitting—this time, it looked she was making a swea
ter of light yellow wool.

  “For Nicole?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you should be knitting for the Englisch tourists.”

  “If I’m ever too busy to knit for my own grandkinner, then I’m too busy.”

  Grace watched her for a few minutes, then said, “I don’t know how you focus.”

  Her mamm smiled, the needles and yarn a blur in her hands. She finished a row, checked her marker, then dropped the knitting back into her bag. “I’ll tell you a secret. The reason I love to knit is that it’s predictable. Dependable. If I follow the pattern carefully, if I knit when I should knit and purl when I should purl, if I count my stitches, then the thing I’m making turns out correctly every time.”

  “That does not happen when I knit,” Grace admitted, but then she rarely remembered to count her stitches, and she often purled in the wrong place.

  “It’s comforting to me, for sure and certain.” Her mamm stared at Nicole for a moment, then looked back at Grace, a smile playing on her lips. “Life isn’t predictable in that way. It never has been. Knitting helps me to feel grounded. It helps the crazy days feel...manageable.”

  Her mamm stood, walked over to Nicole and kissed her on the top of the head. She paused when she reached the door and looked back. “Your dat and Adrian would like to come in.”

  “Ya, of course.”

  Her dat stayed less than five minutes. It was as if he needed to see for himself that Nicole was fine, and then he was content to leave the details of her care to Grace.

  “Would you like us to wait around until the doctor is ready to dismiss her?”

  Grace glanced up at Adrian, and maybe for the first time, she fully realized how much he cared about her and Nicole, because the expression on his face told her that he needed and wanted to be the one to take them home.

  “Nein, dat. Danki, though. Adrian will bring us home.”

  Her dat nodded, as if that was what he’d expected her to say.

  Which left Grace alone in the room with Adrian and her sleeping child. Adrian had purchased a get-well card from the hospital gift shop. The card sported a teddy bear carrying a large bouquet of balloons. “It was the only thing I could find with the color yellow.” He placed the card on the little stand holding Nicole’s cup and pitcher of water. Then he stepped closer to the bed, bent down and kissed Nicole on the head.