The Englisch Daughter

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “Your reverence for the Amish overwhelms me.”

  “Was that irreverent?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Circling back to today, if Roy did what I think he did—canceled several Saturday classes and told everyone we’d begin again today but didn’t call back to schedule specific people on specific Saturdays—we’ll be double-booked all day. That will mean the three of us will each have one horse in a separate paddock while working with one child. We’ll also each have an easel with laminated pictures on the front and Velcro on the back. You’ll ask the child to choose which task comes first.” She continued giving him instructions, explaining about some of the children and their rumblings and stimming actions and how best to deal with those and many other things. “Encouragement and lightheartedness are very important. We’re not testing them to see what they know. We’re offering them a chance to enjoy life on their terms in a casual but organized way. The hardest issue is if a meltdown happens. If you see hints of it through the rumblings I talked about, remember redirection is key. But if it happens, Roy and I will be close at hand. The parents, too, although we try to keep them from jumping in, if possible.”

  “And it’ll be just for Amish children?”

  “Unfortunately, ya. The Amish come here as friends and family, even if we don’t know them before they arrive. But for us, as Graber Horse Farm, to reach out to the Englisch community, we would have to be certified to work with special-needs children, and that’s time consuming and expensive.”

  “But you give the Englisch riding lessons.”

  “Ya, getting certified and licensed for that was easier and more affordable than getting certified to work with special-needs children.” Paddock one and all that was in it came into clear view.

  “There’s only one parent here,” Chris said.

  “For now. In an hour we’ll have several.” She gestured. “The one parent is Elam, a widower who’s very helpful on our therapy days.”

  “Widower? He’s young.”

  She nodded. “Thirty-three. And he has been raising two children on his own for five years. One is special needs. His story is heartrending, but it does not define him. You stick close to me and learn. When other parents arrive, you can move to your own paddock. If you still need pointers after that, Elam can give them, but he can’t take over for you. He has two boys to watch, and Kyle has no sense of what’s dangerous.”

  “If Elam knows how to do all of it, why does he bring his child here?”

  She didn’t answer since their horses had stopped at the split-rail fence outside paddock one. Kyle was inside the fence with a stick in hand, squatting as he played in the dirt.

  “Guder Marye, Kyle.” Abigail dismounted and unclipped the cinch center ring, beginning the process of removing the saddle.

  The little boy didn’t look up or speak, but he tapped the stick against the ground as acknowledgment that he’d heard her. She removed Pippi’s saddle and hung it on a fence railing.

  She laid the breast collar across the saddle and unbuckled the flank cinch. “Chris, you’ll need to get Lady Belle or Skunkweed. Lightning gets flighty around children, especially ones who are stimming.”

  “Okay.”

  Elam came out of the stable, carrying two saddles for special-needs children. Both were child sized with a full back brace and safety belt that went around the stomach and buckled.

  “There she is.” Elam smiled.

  “Hallo, Elam.”

  He was a good man, kind and gentle, but she wasn’t attracted to him.

  “Hallo. The easels are set up in each paddock, and I need to grab one more saddle and the bridles.” He put one saddle on the fence and then the other in front of it. “Kyle is one excited little boy today.” He held out a halter to her. “For Pippi. Lady Belle and Skunkweed have their halters on.”

  “Denki, Elam.” She gestured at Chris. “Elam, this is Chris. He’s come from the other side of the Cumberland Narrows to lend a hand here.”

  Elam dusted off his hands and held one out. “Hi, Chris. I heard you were gone.”

  “Ya, I am.” Chris shook his hand. “Just here today as temp help.”

  Elam nodded. “Roy said he’d be back just as soon as he tended the horses at the old poultry barn. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him yet. Any more horses come down with EHV-1?”

  Abigail opened a gate and led Pippi into the paddock. “Thankfully, no. If we can go ten more days without another horse showing symptoms, it’ll all be behind us.”

  “I know you’ll be glad when those ten days are up. And none of your horses at the Kurtzes’ place came down with EHV-1?”

  “Not a one,” she said.

  “It sounds as if things went as smoothly as possible, then, except for Roy’s injuries. Since you had a new string and you weren’t in sight when I arrived, I was sure I’d walk into the stables to find you with a fire in the forge, your blacksmith hammer in hand, shoeing horses.”

  “That’s got to happen soon, but we had our string shoed, and the new string arrived with decent shoes—at least good enough to get us through this super busy time.”

  “You shoe horses?” Chris asked.

  “I do.” Abigail shrugged. “But it’s far from my favorite way to expend energy.”

  Elam dusted off his hands. “I better get the rest of the gear.”

  Chris entered the paddock and closed the gate. “He seems nice.”

  “He is. Too nice for me, I think.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shrugged.

  “But there are plenty of others, I’m sure.” Despite Chris’s warm smile, she saw concern.

  “If you’re afraid I’ll die an old maid, don’t be. I may die one, but it’ll be by my choice. Some think less of me for remaining single this long. Too many look at me with pity or judgment, as if I have less value until I’m married. Tell me you’ll never become one of them, Chris.”

  “Never,” he whispered. He went toward Kyle, stopped several feet back, knelt, and used his finger to draw in the dirt.

  Abigail observed as Chris slowly made his way into Kyle’s world. Not long after, he and Kyle went to the easel with its two columns—“To-do” and “Done”—and when Kyle picked up the picture with the saddle, which should be one of the last things they did, Chris said something so softly that Abigail couldn’t make out a single word, but Kyle broke into giggles.

  How could a man so adept in rescuing children, whether it was Heidi from danger or Kyle from being held prisoner within himself, be so violent as to face another man made in God’s own image and hit him?

  Twenty-Four

  Jemima’s shoulders ached with tension, and she longed to fade into nothingness. She struggled to take a full breath. The wooden bench beneath her was unforgiving as she cradled Heidi in her arms and watched the preacher as if she were an upstanding godly woman.

  Hypocrite!

  She’d arrived at the Millers’ about thirty minutes ago, carrying a fussy Heidi in the car seat. This was the first church day she’d had to attend with Heidi. Jemima softly mumbled that the baby’s mom had disappeared, leaving Heidi behind, which was true. And now the other women treated Jemima as if she were a selfless saint taking care of a poor, abandoned baby. But she was the opposite.

  She knew it.

  Roy knew it.

  God knew it.

  Still, here she was with Heidi in her arms, longing to pass her to Roy and insist he take her back to social services. She looked across the Millers’ living room to the men’s side of the church gathering. Roy had both Simeon and Nevin. Soon it would be Roy’s and her turn to host church. How was that supposed to work?

  As the bishop preached, Jemima’s mind kept drifting. Focus. She surely needed to hear what God was telling her, as the emotions she felt daily were overwhelming. Her baby,
Simeon, was asleep on Roy’s shoulder. But if she took Simeon and Roy held Heidi, the community would be suspicious, wondering why Roy would be the caregiver for some other woman’s newborn? So she held Heidi, pretending to be something she wasn’t. The whole situation made her sick.

  She wanted to stand up and tell everyone the truth, but the fear of what that would mean, of the chaos it would set in motion, was paralyzing. Roy caught her looking and gave her a half smile. She averted her eyes.

  Laura pulled on Jemima’s dress sleeve. “Mamm, the baby.”

  Jemima glanced down to see Heidi stirring and starting to fuss. Laura’s crutches were peeping out from under the church bench. During the opening songs, Laura and Carolyn had somehow pulled a miracle and got Heidi to go to sleep by gently swinging her back and forth while she was still buckled in the carrier. But it didn’t last, and within seconds the baby’s stirring turned to screeching. Typical. Jemima had leaned down, unbuckled Heidi, and cradled her in her arms. She’d gone back to sleep for a bit.

  Now a foul smell filled Jemima’s nose. She leaned toward her girls and whispered in Pennsylvania Dutch, the only language Carolyn fully knew, that she needed to change the baby and probably feed her again. She promised to be back as soon as she could.

  “Kann Ich kumm aa?” Carolyn looked up at her, hands clasped prayerfully, asking to go with her. “Ich bin gut at Bobbeli diapers. Daed saages es. Ich kann helfe.” Carolyn assured her she was good at changing diapers, because Daed said so, and she could help. Before Jemima responded, Carolyn picked up the diaper bag from its place under the bench and paused, her big eyes begging to stick close to the baby.

  Jemima paused and then nodded. “Kumm.” She stood. Heidi fussed louder, and Jemima knew she would be wailing within two minutes. Unwilling to mingle with the other Mamms in the crying room and chance questions or praise coming her way, she walked toward the washhouse door.

  Anna Miller stood, a gentle smile on her lips. She gestured behind Jemima. “You take the baby upstairs, just as you’ve always done with your own.”

  Anna had misunderstood, apparently thinking Jemima considered it improper to mingle legitimate children with an illegitimate Englisch one. Being alone and free to talk put Jemima at risk of needing to lie outright or do so through redirection and silence.

  Is this how Roy had felt—sickened to keep the truth hidden while desperate to do so? Is that why he had pulled away from Jemima more and more as time went by, even when they were near each other at mealtime or in the same bed?

  Jemima shook her head.

  “Ya, you will,” Anna whispered. “We feel no different just because of whose she is. If you need more privacy to soothe her than with your other children, use the guest room upstairs, last door on the left.”

  “Denki.” Jemima breathed a sigh of relief to have a room to herself. She hurried up the stairs, Carolyn on her heels. Why was her daughter so attached to this child?

  Once in the guest room, Jemima closed the door and motioned for Carolyn to put the diaper bag on the bed. Doors were typically left open so caregivers could still hear the preachers, but Heidi wailed during diaper changes. Jemima methodically pulled out all the changing items. How many hundreds upon hundreds of diapers had she changed, scrubbed, and hung out to dry in her life? She laid Heidi down on the wool blanket with waterproof backing that she always used as a changing pad. Heidi ramped up her screams even more.

  “Ich hab des, Mamm.” Carolyn assured her Mamm that she had this as she climbed onto the bed and got in front of her Mamm. Carolyn leaned her mouth close to Heidi’s ear, humming and shushing softly. Heidi’s shaky cry quieted for a moment and she blinked. Jemima watched as her own small child undid the pins, stuck them in the bedding, wiped the baby down, and put a fresh diaper on her. Jemima drove the sharp pins through the material, and Carolyn fastened each one. When did she learn how to do all that? Carolyn had helped some with Simeon, but Jemima hadn’t seen her as able to do this much. Jemima put the dirty diaper in the waterproof bag and tucked it away.

  “Ach, wie wunderbaar Bobbeli Heidi.” Carolyn cooed about how wonderful a baby Heidi was as she finished redressing her.

  Jemima pulled hand sanitizer and a clean diaper out of the bag. She put the clean cloth on her shoulder and squirted her hands and Carolyn’s. They rubbed their hands until they were dry.

  Heidi’s face scrunched, and she let out a cry. “Sh, es iss gut.” Carolyn kissed Heidi’s forehead and then looked up. She told Jemima that Heidi needed extra love sometimes. Then she asked if Heidi missed her Mamm and Daed and if that was why she cried so easily.

  Carolyn’s empathy jabbed at Jemima, making her heartache fresh while sparks of anger flew heavenward. Heidi was with her Daed, had been since the start. Jemima caressed Carolyn’s sweet face and kissed her, but she didn’t answer her daughter’s question.

  Heidi squirmed and cried louder, her face reddening again. Jemima picked her up. She’d given her a bottle before church began. Could she be hungry? Was this new formula no easier on Heidi’s stomach than all the others they’d tried?

  “Kumm on, child.” Jemima stifled a sigh and rolled her eyes. Good grief. Enough was enough. She sat in the rocker, holding Heidi on her lap. “What do you want?” Jemima pushed back the emotional resistance she felt against this little one and cradled her and rocked back and forth. Heidi cried louder. “What?” Jemima stared at the baby’s face, hackles raised. “What do you want?”

  A voice whispered, and chills engulfed every inch of Jemima. She quieted her thoughts and listened, trying to make out what the whisper had said.

  Then she heard it loud and clear.

  To be loved.

  The truth penetrated Jemima’s anger and pierced her conscience. Her movements were the right ones: gentleness, cradling, rocking. But her actions didn’t come from a place of love or caring; they came from a sense of duty to God as anger raged within her.

  She studied the infant’s tiny features, and for the first time, she saw the pouty lower lip of hurt feelings. But Jemima couldn’t pull her truly close, the snuggly kind of embrace that happened naturally between a Mamm and her babe. She tried to make herself relax and cuddle, but thoughts of why this child shouldn’t even exist turned up the heat underneath her anger.

  Love…

  Thoughts of what love was and wasn’t flooded her.

  She knew it to be gentle and bold. Quiet and loud. At times it had filled her with such force, it seemed to be more physical than abstract. Every time it entered or was stirred or was awakened anew, she was never, ever the same again.

  In this ever-changing world when life was calm and steady one day and torn to shreds the next, three things were steady: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these was love.

  She knew that God said that love is patient, but what she had given her husband and Heidi of late was more like a wall of silence than patience. She hadn’t been kind. Her responses to Heidi were measured because she longed to free her life of her without anyone knowing who the baby truly was.

  Jemima thought about the verses on love. If love didn’t dishonor, was not self-seeking, and kept no record of wrongs, who was she?

  If love always protected and persevered, what did that say about who she was? Love was an emotion, but it was so much more than that. She’d known that since she was a girl. Her Mamm taught her that it started as an emotion but that in every long-standing relationship, when life turned emotions on their heads and the only thing one felt was the opposite of what he or she used to feel, love became a decision and it stood the test of time. Her Mamm said that if she didn’t believe it, ask God.

  Jemima pulled Heidi close, tears brimming.

  Wasn’t this what God did with all His children? Adopt them? Love them the way Carolyn loved, without prejudice or anger?

  “I’m sorry, little one.” Jemima brushed her finger a
long Heidi’s cheek, taking note of her puckered lip.

  Heidi’s stomach rumbled and growled. Poor thing was miserable.

  A difficult thought seemed to shake all the other thoughts, much like a tremor in an earthquake.

  Jemima inwardly shuddered, but maybe she could…She cringed as she unfastened the nursing fold in the bodice of her dress and lifted Heidi to her breast. As she helped her latch, Heidi’s blue eyes locked on hers, and the rock-hard misery of resentment began to melt from Jemima.

  Hadn’t she been just like this baby of late—crying, whining, and miserable no matter how hard Roy tried?

  The poor man. The blockhead. She sighed at her opposing opinions of her husband.

  Through it all, God was there, always forgiving her, nudging her to trust Him no matter her sin. If He could love her, she could love this innocent child.

  “Mamm, bischt allrecht?”

  Carolyn’s asking if her Mamm was all right caused Jemima to realize her cheeks were wet with tears. “Ya, Ich bin gut. Denki, Carolyn.” And she was good. She cradled her daughter’s face with her free hand and told her that she’d taught her something good today: how to love Heidi.

  “Loss uns lieb meh, Mamm.” Carolyn nodded her head.

  Her words weren’t perfect, and Jemima wouldn’t correct her. “Ya, let’s love more,” she whispered while tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Carolyn moved to a basket of toys and sat down. Jemima drew a deep breath and relaxed into the new feeling. She knew that the anger with her husband was still there, just beneath this flood of love for Heidi. She was so weary of anger. It was no longer welcome, but she’d nursed every dark, miserable thought that had come her way until anger was an oversized living thing inside her that she didn’t know how to get rid of.

  Heidi soon stopped nursing. She was fast asleep with a drop of milk on her rosy lips and a contented little smile. Could Heidi sense the change in Jemima, or did the breast milk sit easier on her stomach? Either way, Jemima smiled too, although the tears were still falling. She put Heidi on her shoulder and burped her before cradling her again, rocking her.