Always in My Heart

by Mary Ellis

  After several nights of crying herself to sleep, Hope contacted his caseworker, Carolyn Webster, from the neighbor’s phone shed. The woman was willing to see her in Harrisburg, but a full two weeks elapsed before the meeting could be arranged. Hope left the house before dawn to make their afternoon appointment, traveling solely with Faith. The minute Hope entered the office, Faith started squalling.

  Miss Webster peered over her reading glasses and frowned. “You were unable to find a sitter, Mrs. Bowman?”

  Hope shifted Faith to her other arm and rubbed the baby’s back. “A sitter? No, I can’t leave her for this long since I’m nursing.” Faith let out another wail while Miss Webster blinked, then focused on papers on her desk.

  “Do you have someplace I can change her diaper? I believe she’ll settle down once she’s dry.”

  The woman stared blankly at her. “Yes, there’s a restroom down the hall with one of those drop-down tables. I’ll wait for you here.”

  When Hope returned, her daughter quickly fell back asleep. The discussion with Miss Webster was by no means as successful.

  “From your message, I understand you wish to pursue custody of James Webb.” Miss Webster looked up from the open folder.

  “Yes, I do, since I’m his mother.”

  The woman’s brows knitted together. “You were his birth mother, but you surrendered all parental rights upon signing the adoption papers.”

  “I understand. But that couple didn’t keep him. They gave him back, and the agency never bothered to contact me. I would have found a way to raise the boy myself had I known.”

  Miss Webster’s frown deepened. “After his initial unsuccessful adoption, we continued to seek permanent placement for James. But the decision by his adoptive parents didn’t change your situation regarding legal custody. You severed ties, Mrs. Bowman. All this was explained to you at the center.”

  “Well, it should have changed things.” Hope kneaded her hands in her lap.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. How does James feel about this? Has he asked to live with you and your family?”

  “Well, no, but he came looking for us.”

  “Teenagers often become curious at his age and seek their natural mothers. The end result is often not what either party expects.” Miss Webster softened her tone.

  “I’m sure that’s true, but James liked staying with us. He got along with his sisters, helped with chores, and ate everything I cooked without turning up his nose.” She hoped that didn’t sound as pathetic to Miss Webster as it did to her own ears.

  “I’m glad James enjoyed his visit to your farm, but there’re many things to take into consideration. When he turns eighteen, he’ll be able to choose for himself where he lives, since he’ll no longer be under Children’s Services’ care.”

  “Like what things?”

  “The fact that your family is Amish and James isn’t makes a difference. We want him to finish high school and will insist he not leave before he’s eighteen.”

  “There are English high schools in Lancaster County.”

  Miss Webster rolled her chair back from the desk. “I’m sorry you traveled all this way, but you must understand that changing a child’s custody is no simple matter. Foster homes must be screened by social workers and regularly inspected. James must stay where he is, but try not to worry—the Hydes are a good family.” She stood, smiling. “May I drive you and your daughter back to the bus station?”

  “No, thank you. I’m used to walking.” Hope rose to her feet, suddenly weak-kneed and mildly sick to her stomach. “But you’ll ask him?”

  “Ask him what?” The caseworker was halfway to her office door.

  “Ask James if he wants to live with his birth mamm?”

  Carolyn Webster gazed at Hope with a pitying expression. “I will ask how his visit to Lancaster went and if he wishes to maintain contact with you. But please don’t get your hopes up. Boys are rather set in their ways by age fifteen.”

  Hope trudged through the doorway and out of the glass-and-steel building. She and Faith reached the station, boarded her bus, and returned to Paradise. But during the entire trip her gut churned as it never had before.

  That evening Stephen accepted the news with his usual complacency. His only comment was, “We’ll continue to remember him in our prayers.”

  Rosa, unlike Stephen, had plenty to say on the matter. “I can’t believe your being Amish would make a difference. Sounds to me like the boy could benefit from people with strong faith.” Rosa paced the room.

  “She’s worried he won’t graduate high school.” Hope lifted Faith from her carrier for feeding.

  “Your word that he’ll stay in school should be sufficient. After all, you are his mamm.”

  “Not legally.” Desperation crept into her voice.

  “Then you need to talk to a lawyer, Hope.”

  “That’s not our way, you know that.”

  “Your father started this years ago. Sometimes traditions need to change, or at least exceptions should be made.” Rosa halted in front of Hope’s chair. “You need to become one of those foster parents. If that’s the only way to get your boy back, then that’s what you should do.”

  Hope pressed her fist to her chest. “I’m so lucky to have a smart best friend.”

  Rosa patted her shoulder. “Sometimes you have to join them instead of trying to fight them.”

  “I don’t want to beat anybody; I just want my boy back.” Hope’s mind whirred with plans and possibilities. While Faith nursed and Rosa fixed mint tea, the seeds of hope began to grow inside her heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Hope adjusted her reading glasses and scanned through the sheaf of papers Rosa had provided for her. Apparently Rosa read much more than recipes in the magazines at the doctor’s office. And since her husband’s death, she spent a lot of time at the public library. Lately she had expanded her reading to include the adoption laws in the state of Pennsylvania and the requirements to become foster parents in Lancaster County.

  If Hope lived to be a hundred and five, she would never be able to repay Rosa for her help.

  November brought cooler weather, brisk winds, and more rain to Lancaster County. In the months since Hope’s trip to Harrisburg, activity around the farm had accelerated. Stephen was grinding the last of the corn into silage, along with spreading composted fertilizer on the fields to prepare for winter. Dairy cows had to be milked twice a day, along with the other barn and field chores. Stephen would love to hire someone, but for now they relied on occasional help from neighbors and district members.

  Josie and Emily were thriving in school under the guidance of a young single woman by the name of Charity Yoder. Amish schools often had frequent turnovers, as young women took the position and then married. Marriage usually meant bopplin would soon follow and the teacher would retire to stay home. But for now, Charity seemed settled, and the girls adored her.

  Everything was going well, except for the fact that James was missing from the household.

  But Hope intended to change that, as soon as possible.

  “How goes it, fraa?”

  Stephen’s simple question startled Hope. “Goodness, ehemann, must you sneak up on a gal?” She peered over her reading glasses.

  He buzzed a kiss across her kapp. “I come for lunch around noon every day. Sorry if today I took you by surprise.” Rolling up his sleeves, he washed his hands and arms at the sink.

  “Lunch? Goodness, I lost track of time while filling out the latest batch of government paperwork.” Hope jumped to her feet. “Roast beef sandwiches okay, with horseradish and tomatoes? I have a chilled jar of pickled beets too.”

  “I’d been hoping for roast turkey with corn bread dressing and cranberries. But I guess a sandwich will do.” Stephen grinned at his own joke and settled into his usual chair.

  “I’ll stuff and roast a bird on Saturday. Then we can eat cold leftovers on the Sabbath.” Hope placed the platter of meat, a loaf of
fresh bread, and pitcher of milk on the table. “Greta, come eat,” she called in Deutsch. They waited for the child to join them before bowing their heads.

  “Problems with us getting a foster home license?” Stephen built a sandwich around two thick slices of beef.

  “Not really a problem, but I must detail in writing how I plan to accommodate an English student in our home. We must enroll him in high school, arrange for his transportation, and explain how he can keep his computer and cell phone charged up. They insist he maintain phone contact with his caseworker at all times. And he must be able to use his laptop for classes with access to the Internet.”

  Stephen scowled over his sandwich. “They require us to provide an Internet connection? What else—a television and one of those movie-recording machines? The bishop would never approve of such things, Hope.”

  “No, no, don’t upset yourself. He only needs a place to charge them up. We can run our diesel generator in the barn to accomplish that. And he could use the computer after school or at the library on the weekends. If James chooses to live with us, he must accept the fact we don’t listen to radio or watch TV.”

  Stephen chewed silently while Hope cut Greta’s meat into small pieces. “And what have you heard from the boy?” He met Hope’s gaze.

  “Still not a word. I have written twice to say we’re getting a foster home license in case he wants to try living with our family, but he hasn’t written back. I gave him the number of the phone shed. He could always leave a message on their machine. I’ve heard that many Englischers aren’t good letter writers.”

  “Maybe he’s thinking the matter over or waiting to see if we’re successful getting approved.”

  “I hope that’s it.” Hope stared at her untouched sandwich. “But I won’t relax until I hear that he’s willing to give us a chance.”

  Stephen reached across the table, his palm open. “What does Scripture tell us to do?”

  She stretched her hand to meet his. “Be patient and wait on the Lord. His timetable is perfect.”

  He smiled. “You’ve got the gist of the passage.” He speared a pickled beet. “Now, what are your plans for the afternoon?”

  “I will pick more cabbage and put up sauerkraut for the cold months. When the girls come home, they can help me.” Hope started eating in earnest, but the crunch of buggy wheels on gravel distracted her attention. “Who can that be? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  Stephen walked to the window, his lunch finished. “Looks like your father’s buggy.” Hope dropped the sandwich on the plate. “I wonder what would take Mamm and Daed away from chores?”

  She asked the question, but in her heart, she knew.

  Father marched toward the haus, followed by Mother, who was limping along the flagstones.

  Hope swung the kitchen door wide. “Welcum, I didn’t expect to see you two until preaching on Sunday.” She felt Stephen move to stand behind her.

  Silas stepped across the threshold, pulling off his hat. “That’s what I had planned, dochder, but the bishop mentioned some troubling news to me.” He braced his hand on the table but didn’t sit down. “Don’t you think we could have discussed this before you pursued this nonsense?”

  Hope crossed her arms. “If you’re referring to my son as ‘nonsense,’ then no, I don’t think I need to discuss it with you first.”

  Silas’s lips thinned, his face pale. “You’re making a mistake. That boy doesn’t belong here. He should stay with his own kind.”

  Faith’s cries pierced the tension in the room, but Silas reacted before Hope. “Martha, you tend the boppli while I finish with our dochder. She needs to come to her senses.”

  “I’m James’s mamm, so that makes me his kind, same as Josie, Emily, Greta, and Faith.”

  Stephen slipped his arm around her waist. “I’ve spent time with James—I seem to be his kind too.”

  Silas peered at one, then the other. “You will be disgraced in the district, Hope Bowman.” He snarled rather than spoke the words.

  “No, any who judge me are wrong to do so.”

  Her father frowned. “What did the bishop tell you?”

  “He isn’t against fostering James, providing our family keeps the Ordnung. His English activities must stay at school and not influence our dochders. But the bishop will welcome him to our community and hopes the boy will take up a Christian path.”

  “I doubt the bishop prefers the situation as such,” Silas said.

  “But this is our choice,” said Stephen quietly.

  Faith’s cries hadn’t abated under Martha’s care. “Excuse me, Daed. Faith is hungry, so I need to tend her myself. Danki for dropping by, and I shall continue to pray the Lord will guide me on this matter.” She strode from the room with composure and assurance she didn’t feel. But she had held her temper and hadn’t dishonored her father.

  James Webb stepped off the school bus into a two-inch puddle. His younger housemates giggled. A wet foot just iced the cake on his bad day. His English Lit teacher sprang a quiz on this week’s assignments—the ones he hadn’t read. He’d forgotten his lunch on the kitchen counter along with his wallet in his room. With no desire to borrow money from anyone, he’d gone hungry. A late-afternoon headache had been his reward for forgetfulness. At least Mrs. Hyde always had fruit and cookies for snacks after school. And providing the kids still ate their supper, she allowed them to eat enough to take the edge off.

  The cookies were store-bought, not homemade like Hope’s, but at least Mrs. Hyde didn’t fill his head with a pack of lies. She presented life like it was—he could live here until he finished high school, even after he turned eighteen, providing he didn’t pick fights with the other boys and didn’t flunk out. After that he was on his own to find a job or move into a cardboard box under the freeway overpass.

  “Hey, Mrs. Hyde,” James said, dumping his backpack on the floor. Kevin and Larry ran for the pantry, while the three boys who rode an earlier bus were already seated at the table.

  “Wash your hands before you dig in.” Mrs. Hyde set a pitcher of generic fruit punch on the table.

  James ran cold water over his fingers for a few seconds and dried his hands on his jeans. He’d barely swallowed his first chocolate chip cookie when Mrs. Hyde paused next to his chair.

  “She called again today,” said Mrs. Hyde.

  “Who?” James shoved another into his mouth, not looking at her.

  “You know who—Mrs. Bowman.” She rested a hand on her hip. “This is the third time she’s called. And I know she wrote at least twice because I noticed the Paradise postmark. Isn’t that a couple hours from Philadelphia?”

  Reaching for another cookie, James lifted both eyebrows. Usually his foster mom butted out of their personal business.

  “I think you should call her. See what she wants.”

  He shoved the entire cookie in his mouth and chewed thoroughly. “I know what she wants—she wants me to come to their farm to get to know my family better.” He spat the word like a watermelon seed.

  Mrs. Hyde’s forehead furrowed. “I thought you had enjoyed yourself. Why don’t you spend your break there—sort of like a getaway.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Hope had her chance with me. We both know how that ended up.” He rose to his feet, drained his fruit punch, and took three more sweets. “Excuse me, but I should do my homework before supper.”

  She blocked his exit. “One of my jobs as your foster mother is to teach you manners. And polite people return phone calls. Rudeness will get you nowhere in life. It’s your decision whether or not to see the Bowmans again, but you should call her back.”

  He smirked and rolled his eyes. Polite people? What next—they had to sip tea from tiny cups with raised pinkies? But since Mrs. Hyde seldom asked anything from him, he shrugged. “Fine, I’ll call her on my cell phone.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.” He forced a smile.

  “Thanks, James.” She patted his shoulder in a ra
re demonstration of affection, then handed him a slip of paper.

  He polished off the rest of his snack on the way upstairs. Luckily his roommate wasn’t home from football practice yet. Slinging his backpack onto the bed, James punched in the number from the paper. To his astonishment, someone picked up the other end. He’d expected an answering machine.

  “Hello?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Hope?” he asked ridiculously. Why would she be hanging out at the phone shed?

  “No, this is her neighbor, Donna Miller.”

  “Could you tell her I called, please? She’s been calling me.”

  He was ready to hang up when the voice said, “I’d be happy to, but who are you?”

  What should he say—her son? No, Hope didn’t deserve that distinction as far as he was concerned. “This is James Webb, an acquaintance from a long time ago. Thanks.” With a surge of hostility, he clicked the phone shut.

  James stood in his small bedroom with his fists clenched, breathing hard and sweating. Finally, he picked up his books to return to the kitchen, but before he could reach the doorway, his cell phone rang. James lifted the phone to his ear, yet his mouth refused to form words.

  “James?” asked a familiar voice. “Is that you? It’s Hope Bowman.”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Mrs. Hyde said you’d been phoning a lot, and she made me call you back.” He heard a sharp intake of air and then a pause.

  “Yes, I’ve called and written twice. I wanted you to know we completed the paperwork to become a licensed foster home in this state. We’re just waiting on final inspection. So if you’d like to live with us—for a short time or a long while—it would be allowable.” She sounded weak and whiny—two traits he despised.

  “I get three square meals here, my clothes washed, and nobody fills my head with trash. Why would I want to come live on your farm?”

  “Because you have four sisters here and I am your mom.” Her last words were barely recognizable as Hope’s voice faltered.

  “My mom, really? I don’t think so. If you wanted to be my mother, you never would have sold me to the highest bidder.”