Love Rekindled: Book 3

by Serena B. Miller

  “Did she ever give you any indication where she was from?” Rachel asked.

  “No. Funny thing. She’d chat with me all day about those paperbacks she read. She’d tell me the whole plot of one while she washed dishes or made me some soup or something. I don’t read so good anymore, so I liked that a lot, but she never told me anything personal from before we met. I asked her one time where she’d learned to cook so good and she said her grandmother had taught her. That’s the most she ever said about her past.”

  “If Tony didn’t let her go out much, where did she get the books?”

  “There’s a thrift store up the street he allowed her to walk to. She could buy a paperback for pocket change. There were always a lot of people coming and going at Tony’s house. She said she almost always found a quarter or two in the couch after some of them left. She could buy a paperback for fifty cents. She was always wanting to be reading them Amish stories.”

  “Did she ever tell you why she liked Amish novels so much?” Rachel said.

  “I asked her once. She said she didn’t know, except she felt safe when she was reading them.”

  “Safe?”

  “That’s what she said. Didn’t make any sense to me, but I was glad it helped her.”

  Mabel began to eye the bakery box again.

  “Just a couple more questions, Mabel, and then I’m out of here,” Rachel said. “We found a clipping of a newspaper story in the car, about me, and my husband’s restaurant. She’d circled the address. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Oh, was that you?” Mabel asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lily cut that article out of one of my newspapers a while back. Said ‘Sugarcreek’ sounded like a nice place to live. If I remember right, the article said that you’d risked your life to save your little boy only the night before your husband was scheduled to open the restaurant?”

  “That’s true,” Rachel said.

  “Lily started talking about wanting to go visit Sugarcreek sometime. She wanted to see the restaurant, meet your husband, the famous baseball player, and maybe meet you too. She brought it up several times. I think she knew that raising a baby in Tony’s house wouldn’t work. She talked about maybe getting a job there as a cook. I asked her what she’d do with the baby if she had to work. She said maybe there would be an Amish family who would watch the baby for her.”

  It hurt Rachel to think of that poor girl reading a newspaper article and daydreaming about coming to work at Joe’s Home Plate. If she could turn back time, knowing what she did now, she would have driven straight to Tony’s weeks ago, loaded up Lily, and taken her home with her.

  Instead, she would be going to the gravesite tomorrow to watch Lily’s cheap casket being lowered into the ground.

  “The social worker in Tuscarawas County called me on the way here,” Rachel said. “Tony’s mom has already laid claim to her granddaughter.”

  “Gertie?” Mabel looked astonished. “Gertie wants to raise Lily’s baby?”

  “She seems to think she does.”

  “Gertie is a terrible woman, Rachel. My guess is that the only reason she’s going after the baby is because she’s figured some way to make money from it.”

  “Welfare?”

  “No,” Mabel said. “She’s got too much money to qualify for welfare. She won a slip-and-fall lawsuit last year. Got herself a big house with it. Got some money out of a whiplash incident too. There’s something else up her sleeve.”

  “You don’t think she’s capable of simply wanting the baby because she’s the grandmother and loves her?”

  “Gertie’s one of them—what do you call it—sociopaths. Doesn’t care about anything except herself. Talk to her daughter sometime if you get a chance. Gertie shouldn’t be allowed to own a junkyard dog, let alone a baby.”

  If what Mabel was saying was true, and there was no reason for her to lie, Rachel felt her stomach churn. Once again she wished she could take that sweet baby girl and run.

  Rachel was more concerned than ever now. It sounded as though, as bad as Tony had been, his mother was even worse and, if Gertie didn’t have a record, there was an excellent chance a judge would turn the baby over to her.

  “Thanks for the information, Mabel,” Rachel said. “You’ve been really helpful. I think that’s about it for now, except you might want to know that the funeral home is going to bury Lily tomorrow. There won’t be any kind of service, but I planned to go be there. If your brother wanted to bring you, it would be okay.”

  “There’s no need,” Mabel said. “I’d rather just keep the memory of Lily sitting here watching TV with me.”

  “I understand.”

  “Before you go,” Mabel rose from the table, limped over to the couch and brought back a fluffy, pink afghan. “I made it for Lily’s baby. Even though Lily is gone, I’d appreciate it if you’d take it to whoever is taking care of her. I’d like to think that something I knitted for her will keep Lily’s baby warm.”

  Chapter 41

  It was late afternoon by the time Rachel got to Joe’s Home Plate. Normally, this wasn’t a busy time for the restaurant but, with it being New Year’s Day, people were off work and it was packed.

  While his father and uncle helped cook and serve, Bobby helped clear tables. He was a conscientious little guy who felt a great deal of ownership of the restaurant.

  She stood inside the door watching her stepson for a moment. Some people might feel that allowing him to help as much as he did was wrong, but she had grown up with the work ethic of the Amish and had seen the results. They were a people who were very deliberate in teaching their children how to work from the time they were toddlers. It created a culture of extremely competent people who could support themselves no matter where they were.

  Toward this end, Joe and she had purchased their son a small notebook that he kept in a desk drawer in the back. This was the notebook in which he kept track of his hours. Since he could not yet tell time, keeping track of his hours meant bringing the notebook to his dad or uncle and asking them how many minutes he had worked, but then he’d get to mark down the number. Joe carefully counted out Bobby’s salary at the end of each week.

  And yet, even though he was growing up, Bobby was still a little boy with a little boy’s heart. When he saw Rachel, he came barreling toward her. “Mommy!”

  Everyone within earshot smiled. Many of the customers knew how much being called ‘Mommy’ meant to her. She had been ‘Rachel’ for a long time, and for a while had to listen to him frequently talk about his ‘real’ mommy after her and Joe’s marriage. When that little boy slammed into her, everything became right again, as she lifted him up and his arms went around her neck.

  “I’m going to head over to check on baby Holly and give her a present. Do you want to go with me?”

  “Can I stay a little longer?” Bobby said. “Uncle Darren and daddy really need me today.” He looked around importantly. “I just don’t know who will take care of things if I’m not here.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I need to go get a hug from your dad, and then I’ll be back later to take you home.”

  Bobby scampered off and she greeted various townspeople as she walked through the crowd toward the kitchen. As she walked through the swinging doors, she found Joe mixing up another batch of his famous burgers. He had about five pounds of hamburger into which he was mixing in his special mix of spices. This was one job that Joe allowed no one else to do, except sometimes his brother. The various hamburger recipes that they used, some of which had been created by their mother, were his and Darren’s secret. They did not share them with any of the help they hired.

  Not sharing the recipes had worked out well. News had traveled fast that Joe kept the recipes in his head and shared them with no one. It added a certain cachet to the restaurant, she thought. Patrons liked to tease Joe about sharing his recipes with them whenever he would come out to mingle with the guests.

  With his h
ands covered with hamburger meat, he didn’t try to hug her but he leaned over and gave her a kiss as he continued to work.

  “Tough day?” he asked.

  She put her arms around his waist from behind and leaned her cheek against his strong back. “Very.”

  “What did you find out?” he asked.

  “I found out that Tony’s mother is someone I wish would go away. She wants the baby.”

  “And you don’t think she should have her?”

  “I think Holly is going to have a very hard life if she ends up being raised by Gertie.”

  “Is there nothing you can do about it?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

  “I am,” she said. “I thought I would make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I got home. I don’t feel much like cooking.”

  “Darren,” Joe said. “Your hands are clean. Make a plate for Rachel. My wife needs sustenance, and she has come to the right place. Now,” Joe nodded his head at a stool near him. “Sit down and start telling me everything that happened today. Maybe I can help you figure things out.”

  Joe’s brother brought Rachel a plate of food and gave her a hug, both of which she gratefully accepted. Joe’s brother was quickly becoming one of her favorite people—especially since Joe’s Home Plate was initially Darren’s idea and it had turned out so well.

  One bite of the burger and a forkful of potato salad and she groaned with pleasure. “Oh, wow, that’s good. You guys oughta start a restaurant or something.”

  “Enjoy!” Darren said. “But whatever you do, don’t expect any pie. Ever since that newspaper article, we can’t keep a pie in the place. If people see one here now, they don’t just buy a slice, they buy the whole thing and take it home with them. All twelve pies I picked up from Lydia today were gone in the first hour even though I’ve doubled the price.”

  Rachel was worried. She couldn’t allow Lydia to have this kind of pressure day in and day out. Lydia loved to bake, and she loved making some money to send to the children in Haiti, but twelve pies a day was a lot. Rachel knew her aunt was at capacity and possibly beyond.

  However, that was not something she could do anything about right now.

  “I need to get over to the Hochstetlers,” she told Joe, after she’d bolted the plate of food. “I have to let them know about the latest development with Holly’s father.”

  “They don’t know about the shooting yet?” Joe asked.

  “Not yet, and at this point, it’s anybody’s guess what’s going to happen.” She jumped off the stool and grabbed her hat and coat. “I’ll stop by soon to pick up Bobby if you can get along without him.”

  Chapter 42

  Keturah was in front of the stove, stirring up a special lotion to give to her mothers to help them prepare their perineum for an easier childbirth, when there was a knock on her kitchen door.

  Her potion was at a fragile stage in the simmering/stirring process and she did not want to leave it for even a second. Agnes was tending to a naked baby with a dirty bottom lying on a blanket on the couch. Neither were in a position to open the door.

  “Come in!” Keturah shouted. “Our door is not locked.”

  “Is your door ever locked?” Rachel asked, letting herself in.

  “At night sometimes… if Ivan remembers,” Keturah said. “There seems to be no point. A robber could easily break in a window if he wanted to come in. Ivan says there would be less for him to repair if the robber would use the door. Anyone is welcome to what we have anyway. But I don’t think we have anything a thief would want these days. Don’t today’s robbers prefer to steal TVs and computers? We have nothing like that. Nor do we have any jewelry. I think they would not want our clothing, or the kindling Ivan keeps stored behind the stove, or our kerosene lamps.”

  “Probably not.” Rachel laughed.

  “See?” Keturah teased. “It is better to be Amish. Then no one wants anything you have.”

  “Your quilts?”

  Keturah thought it over. “Yes, a robber, if he were smart, might want our quilts—but he would have to take them off our beds first and I don’t think Ivan would give up his covers easily on a cold night.”

  “You still need to lock your door at night,” Rachel said. “Tell Ivan I said so.”

  “I will give my husband your message.” Keturah scooted the potion to the back where the stovetop was barely warm. “It is good to see you, Rachel. You look cold. Come warm yourself in front of the stove. Are you hungry? There are fresh oatmeal cookies on the plate on the table. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said. “But I’d like to see little Holly first.”

  She walked over to where Agnes was folding the cloth diaper on her lap just so. The baby was kicking her feet, enjoying the feeling of air on her bare bottom. Rosie was sleeping on a pallet made of blankets on the floor.

  “She’s a good eater, and is such a contented baby,” Agnes said, fondly, pinning the diaper on. “She’s an easy baby to care for.”

  Agnes finished her diapering job, she brought Holly and the rest of her clothing into the kitchen. She sat down at the kitchen table where she could finish dressing her and still keep an eye on Rosie.

  Rachel also drew out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. She laid the pink afghan on the table.

  “Mabel, the woman whose car Lily wrecked, sent that along for the baby. I just came from there.”

  “That was nice of her.” Keturah came over to finger and admire the afghan. “This is done well. Your friend, Mabel, is a very good knitter.”

  Rachel nodded. The afghan was adorable, but not her top priority.

  “Is there some news?” Keturah asked, sensing her mood. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Bad news?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell us,” Agnes said. “We will face it together.”

  “Holly’s father was killed last night.”

  “What happened?” Keturah asked, as she watched Agnes pull a tiny white shirt over the baby’s head.

  “We don’t know everything yet,” Rachel said. “The thing is, now Tony’s mother wants the baby.”

  Keturah digested this information while she went to the sink and filled a tall glass with water.

  “Nursing two babies required a lot of water, daughter.” Keturah sat the glass in front of Agnes. “You work so hard, you too often forget to replenish the liquid in your body.

  “Danke. I get so busy with the babies, I forget.” Agnes said, and took a long swallow.

  Keturah’s attention turned again to Rachel’s news. “But surely Holly’s grandmother being willing to care for her is a good thing?”

  “If the grandmother was like you, then having her take the baby would be a wonderful thing. But Gertie Maddox is not a good woman, or even a kind one from what Mabel, the next-door neighbor, told me. Mabel has known that family for a long time. She’s afraid Gertie will mistreat the baby, like she did her own son and daughter.”

  “But surely we will not have to give this baby to someone who will treat her badly?” Agnes drained her glass.

  “Of course not. I called Sally, the social worker. I told her what I’d heard from Mabel. Tried to slow things down until she and I can investigate further, but Gertie told the social worker, if she doesn’t have the baby within forty-eight hours, she’ll sue for custody.”

  “Who is she going to sue?” Agnes asked.

  “I have no idea,” Rachel said. “I’m not sure even she knows. Gertie is unpredictable and volatile and apparently she really enjoys suing people.”

  “What would you advise us to do?” Keturah asked.

  “I told Sally to keep your name out of this for now,” Rachel said. “I don’t want Gertie to know where the baby is being kept. You have already done so much, you should not have to also deal with a hysterical or angry woman at your door. I’m hoping her demands and threats are just from
the first waves of grief. People change. Perhaps she’ll turn out to be the kind of grandmother who can raise a baby well.”

  “But you don’t think so,” Keturah said.

  “I don’t think so at all,” Rachel admitted.

  Agnes put Holly in a tiny, white handmade nightgown, tied a pair of fuzzy, white baby booties on her little feet, snuggled a white, knit cap onto her head, and then wrapped her in the pink afghan. “She’s ready for bed. Do you want to hold her for a minute before I take her upstairs?”

  “I’d love to,” Rachel said.

  Little Holly was so adorable wrapped in the pink afghan and wearing her white-knit cap. Rachel was dead tired but holding that newborn close made her feel much better. Holly yawned hugely, then the little butterfly eyelashes fluttered a few times before they stopped and rested on the baby’s cheeks—tiny, blonde crescents. Rachel kissed both eyes and the tiny nose before handing her back to Agnes.

  “As adorable as this baby is, I have a seven-year-old son at the restaurant who needs to be taken home and read a bedtime story before he goes to sleep. It is our special time together. Sometimes my job gets in the way, but I try not to let it.”

  Agnes walked with her to the door. “Let us know the minute you hear anything.”

  “Thank you for what you’re doing,” Rachel said. “I know it is a burden caring for two infants at once.”

  “It is not a burden when it is the work that God has given me,” Agnes smiled. “That makes the burden lighter. Besides that, I really love babies.”

  As soon as Rachel was out of the driveway, Agnes turned to Keturah, sorrow written on her face.

  “I can hand this baby to an Englisch relative, if that relative will take good care of her,” Agnes said. “Part of my heart will go with her, but I know the need for family to be with family. But to give her to a bad woman? Someone truly evil?” She looked down into the baby’s sleeping face. “How could I ever do that?”

  “You couldn’t.” The moment Rachel mentioned that Gertie might bring harm to the baby, Keturah had begun to make a plan. “And I could not let you. I did not save this baby’s life for such a fate.”