The Haven

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Gid’s question set off a cavalcade of emotions in her. She was on the cusp of bursting into tears right in front of him. “Gideon, do you trust me or not?”

  “I trust you,” he finally said.

  “No. You don’t. Not really.” She stepped away from him. “If you did, you would never have needed to ask me that question.”

  She ran to the farmhouse and went inside, bolted up the stairs, and flopped herself on the bed, making the springs squeak.

  How could so much have changed, in such little time? Why didn’t she just stay in Berlin with Julia and Rome? And Old Deborah? She wouldn’t have to deal with a boyfriend who believed lies about her, with a newborn baby who cried like he was getting stuck with a pin, with a father whose second heart was giving him trouble. A week ago, life was so much simpler. How could she stay here? How could she face going to church, knowing what people were thinking about her? What Gid was thinking about her!

  Sadie turned toward the window and curled into a ball. She wished her mother were here to ask advice. It seemed the older she got, the more she missed her mother. A shred of a memory, long forgotten, flashed through her mind—a day when Sadie came home from school with hurt feelings because someone had told her she was as dumb as a box of rocks. Book learning came slowly for Sadie. She just couldn’t remember details the way M.K. and Julia could. She was forever slowing her class down, causing them to lose spelling bees and math quizzes. On that day, she had missed the word “utter,” spelling it “udder.” An innocent mistake! But one that brought whoops and howls of belly laughter from the boys. Even the girls. They teased her about it all day long.

  Her mother had met her at the door with freshly made gingersnaps. When Sadie told her about the spelling bee, her mother said, “There are two kinds of smarts in this world: book smarts and people smarts. Frankly, I think people smarts is worth much more than book smarts. And you’ve got more people smarts in your little finger than most folks have in their whole bodies.” Then she covered Sadie’s small hand with her own and gazed steadily into her eyes. “Someday, Sadie, folks are going to be coming to you for advice to solve their problems. You just mark my words.”

  Fat chance.

  Sadie slipped out of bed and sat by the window, resting her fingertips against the smooth glass. She propped her arm on the windowsill and rested her chin on the back of her wrist. Stars glittered overhead, beautiful against the velvety backdrop of black sky. The round moon hung low in the sky. How often had she sat here and made wishes on the stars? She scrunched her eyes tight and started to cry again, softly at first, until tears were flowing down her cheeks and she could barely hold back a sob.

  She felt someone rubbing her back. Sadie’s eyes opened wide, blinking out at the soft night scene. Fern had come to comfort her. Sadie turned her head slightly. She took a few deep breaths.

  “Was that Gideon’s voice I heard out there?”

  Fern. She heard everything.

  Sadie gave a quick nod of her head. “My little sister did me the great favor of telling a few people that I returned with a baby, and a few people told a few more. I just found out that everyone in the church thinks this baby is mine.”

  Fern let out a sigh padded with exasperation. “Mary Kate never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know. But what about everyone else? I can’t believe people are spreading lies about me.”

  “So Gideon believes such nonsense too?”

  On a strangled sob, Sadie barked out, “He told me . . . he forgave me!” New tears threatened, but she sniffed hard and brought herself under control. “For what?! I didn’t do anything!”

  Fern bit on her lip, as if to hold back a smile. “Gid’s a man of deep convictions. Responsible. Those are good traits, Sadie. Schtill Wasser laaft gern dief.” Still waters run deep.

  “But his convictions are wrong!” She frowned, fighting back a wave of worry. “Why do people only believe what they want to believe?”

  “Easier, I guess. They don’t have to think.”

  “How am I going to be able to face everyone in church, knowing what they are thinking about me?”

  “Don’t pay any attention to such idle gossip.”

  “You’re the one who always said, ‘A lie can travel across the country and back again while the truth is lacing up its boots.’”

  Fern sighed.

  “And you’ve also said that gossip is like mud thrown on a clean wall. It may not stick but it leaves a dirty mark. And how many times have you said a rumor is about as easy to unspread as butter.”

  “I’ve also said, ‘Was yeders duh sott, dutt niemand.’” Everybody’s business is nobody’s business.

  Sadie wiped a tear off her cheek. “Maybe I should go back to Berlin. It was easier there. People didn’t gossip there.”

  “Sadie, look at me,” Fern said in a gentle but authoritative voice. When Sadie twisted around to face her, she continued. “It’s time you got your wits together. After all, you’re nearly full grown, aren’t you?”

  Sensibly, Sadie left that unanswered.

  “You want to rein in that line of thinking—lumping everyone in the same pile. So, maybe a few are spreading tales. But more than a few want to help. Mattie Riehl and Carrie Miller stopped by today to see the baby. They brought over a bag of baby clothes and blankets. Mattie said she’d love to babysit, anytime we need help. Bess and Lainey offered to have a baby shower. Never forget—these neighbors are your friends, through thick and thin. Nobody ever said they were perfect. They make mistakes, just like you do. And they make mistakes in Berlin, Ohio, too. You just weren’t there long enough to notice.”

  Over in his basket in the corner, the baby started making noises. Sadie groaned. She was growing familiar with his noises. Those little peeps and squeaks would start getting bigger, and bigger, until that ten-pound bundle was screaming bloody murder.

  “I’ll take this shift,” Fern said. “You get some sleep.”

  Sadie lifted her head to look at her. “How do you do it, Fern? How do you handle coping with all of the problems my family seems to have?”

  Fern brushed Sadie’s cheek with her rough fingertips. “I do what I have to do,” she said matter-of-factly. “You of all people should understand.”

  Amos woke with a start. He could have sworn he heard something outside, a door slam or the sound of a horse cantering. He looked outside his window but couldn’t see anything on this moonless night. Then he heard the cry of the baby and decided that sound must have been what woke him. He checked his alarm. Two a.m. and he was wide awake. He hoped it wouldn’t be another sleepless night. It could be worse, he thought. It could be a night with dreams.

  Amos ran a finger along his scar. It still amazed him—his sternum had been buzzed open by a saw and held apart with a metal spreader. His weak, damaged heart was replaced with a vibrant, healthy heart. His beloved son’s. He held his hand against his heart, taking comfort in the steady beat: thump, thump, thump.

  Even though Amos knew there was no scientific evidence to support this theory, he couldn’t deny it: he felt as if Menno’s heart was altering his psyche. It wasn’t like some of the strange stories of cellular memory that people liked to tell him about. The latest story he heard was about a man who gained a miraculous ability to paint after receiving a heart from an artist. When Amos heard that, he wanted to ask: what if the fellow just had extra time on his hands after his surgery? What if he just had a desire to try something new? No—Amos thought the whole notion of cellular memory was a bunch of mumbo jumbo.

  But ever since the transplant last fall, he kept having strange dreams that involved Menno. He woke in a cold sweat, unable to remember the dream but left with the same feeling each time—that there was some unfinished business he had to take care of. When he mentioned the dreams to the doctor, he was asked if he believed in the theory that souls on “the other side” tried to contact us.

  “Now,” Amos said, trying to hold back from obvious scorning of such a ridiculo
us theory, “why would a soul bother with that if he were in the presence of the almighty Lord?” The doctor had no answer for him.

  Amos had no doubt that Menno, enjoying heaven, was untroubled by the worries of this world. His son was wholly restored, from imperfect to perfect, and he was in the company of his mother and others who went before him. Menno knew the end of the story, and it was good. “In your presence is fullness of joy,” wrote the psalmist.

  But Amos couldn’t shake these dreams. It felt as if maybe God was trying to remind him of something he had forgotten, or misplaced, or more likely, to nudge him to pay attention. He prayed about them, asking God to reveal the meaning of the dreams to him, the way he had to Joseph in Egypt. Once, he had even gone through Menno’s belongings to see if there might be a clue. Nothing, other than an overdue library book. And it was a book of Charlie Brown and Snoopy cartoons! What unfinished business could there have been of a nineteen-year-old whose mind was that of an eight-year-old boy? He just couldn’t figure it out.

  It was Friday. It had rained all night, a hard, driving, drenching downpour. As M.K. toyed with her scrambled eggs, she could feel the edge of danger mounting within her. She knew that today would be the day.

  “Will you listen to me while I’m talking to you?” Fern said to her.

  “Ah . . . what?”

  “When I’m talking to you, I want you to listen. You sit there like you’ve got cotton stuffed in your ears.”

  Fern always had a thing about M.K. not listening. She scrunched around in her seat, pretending to listen to her, but her mind was a million miles away, working out a plan.

  “You’d better be home right after school today,” Fern said. “No dillydallying.”

  M.K. lifted her chin. “I don’t dilly and I don’t dally.”

  After breakfast, M.K. and Sadie worked in silence as they cleaned up dishes. Finally, she tapped Sadie’s shoulder. “Are you going to stay mad at me forever?”

  With a sigh, Sadie turned from the sink. M.K. tried to make her face look as contrite as possible. “I’m not angry, M.K., I just don’t think you realize the kind of trouble you stirred up when you told people I brought back a baby from Ohio. It’s just . . .” But once again, she fell silent.

  When Sadie wouldn’t talk, M.K. knew it was best to just try to change the subject. “If you’re not angry, then let’s go find out who might be missing a baby.”

  Sadie turned to face her.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking by using my crackerjack detective skills. I know the baby was wearing a Onesie—something that any baby might wear. No clue in that. No clue with the brand of diapers. Just regular old Pampers. But the basket the baby was left in . . . I think that basket might hold a clue.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I was examining it earlier. It’s handmade. And it’s pretty new. There’s a tag on the bottom. I’m thinking we should take it to a basket shop and see if they might know who made it, or who it was sold to.”

  Now Sadie looked at her with interest. “You might be on to something, M.K.”

  M.K. nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s called connecting the dots. I’m particularly good at it.”

  Then Sadie’s face clouded over. “Maybe . . . we don’t want to know.”

  “What do you mean? Dad said that the baby should be with his mother.”

  “What kind of mother would abandon a baby? Maybe the baby is better off with us.”

  M.K. wrinkled her forehead. “Sadie, maybe you shouldn’t be getting too attached to that baby.”

  “I can’t help it. There’s something about him. I just feel he is meant for me. For us. I can’t explain it. It’s like a deep-down knowing. This baby is for us.”

  M.K. shrugged her small shoulders. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Dad’s right. But I’m going to take a trip to that basketmaker as soon as I can slip out this afternoon without Fern catching me. Are you coming with me?”

  Sadie hesitated. She looked at the sleeping baby. “We’ll go. But I’m driving.” She gave M.K. a look as if she was bracing herself for a challenge.

  Would M.K. dare to miss a ride with Sadie as pilot? It could be more exciting than sledding down Flying Saucer Hill on an icy day.

  6

  At five foot three inches, Sadie had to sit on a telephone book to see over the dashboard of the buggy. Her buggy driving skills were not exactly her strongest suit. She had always avoided driving the buggy. One sibling or another usually wanted to be in the driver’s seat and she happily acquiesced. But last night Fern had reminded her that she was nearly a grown woman and Sadie hadn’t stopped thinking about that comment. If she was going to start her life as an adult, she was going to have to be brave.

  Then she couldn’t find M.K. Nothing unusual there; M.K. never came when she was called. M.K. said it was because her mind was always on other things. Sadie finally found her up in the hayloft, reading.

  “Let’s go,” Sadie called up to her. “The baby is asleep on Fern’s bed and she has a long list of things she wants me to get at the store.” She held up the baby’s basket. “A golden opportunity!”

  M.K. flew down the hayloft ladder and beat Sadie to the buggy, hopping in on the passenger side.

  Sadie banged her door shut, and the horse startled and reared a few feet. Sadie screamed and dropped the reins. Her high-pitched scream made the horse startle even more, and then, the mare bolted. The buggy shot forward on the curving front drive, then veered straight off the drive. M.K. was holding on to the door handle with both hands. They were gunning over the grass, shade trees were looming by, fences flickered past, the entire world was a blur. Chickens scattered, feathers flying, as they saw what was headed in their direction. Sadie was pinned against the seat and M.K. seemed to somersault on the front seat.

  Think, Sadie, think. You’re a grown woman now. Think!

  Sadie grabbed the loose reins and yanked as hard as she could. They blasted between two trees, and right over Fern’s newly planted flower bed. They sailed over neat rows of impatiens—red, pink, then white—but the front wheels of the buggy dug into the soft flower bed and caused the horse to slow from a canter to a trot, a trot to a walk, and finally, to a stop. Sadie collected her wits, at least those that hadn’t been shaken out of her, and turned to check on M.K. Her little sister had both feet braced against the dashboard of the buggy, and her eyes were really big. She never saw M.K. scared, except maybe when Sadie was driving.

  M.K. took a few deep, gulpy breaths. “Cayenne? Why in the world did you harness up Cayenne? She’s barely buggy broke. She’s as skittish a filly as they come.”

  Sadie wiped perspiration from her forehead. “She was the only horse in the barn.”

  M.K. peeled out the door on her side, ending up in a pile on the grass. “I hate to say it, Sadie, but being in a buggy with you at the helm could be hazardous to a person’s health.” She spit a feather out of her mouth. “You kill more chickens driving the buggy than the Fishers on butchering day.” She brushed herself off and checked for damages. “Either I drive or I’m staying home.”

  Ten minutes later, Mary Kate steered Cayenne into the Bent N’ Dent, a small Amish corner store without any signage out front. Sadie went into the store to get the items on Fern’s list and told M.K. to wait in the buggy. Waiting was never a strength for Mary Kate, and she soon grew bored with watching the horse’s tail swat flies.

  Another buggy pulled into the Bent N’ Dent and she poked her head out of the window to see who it was. She scowled when she saw Jimmy Fisher, her arch nemesis, jump from his buggy. They’d had a running feud since the first day she started school. It was set aside briefly after Menno died, but soon resumed again. It was unfortunate, M.K. always thought, that Jimmy happened to be blessed with good looks and a charming personality, because the spoiled youngest son of Edith Fisher was usually up to mischief. He was the sort of boy who couldn’t settle until he’d jerked a girl’s bandanna off her head or tripped someone walking d
own the aisle at church. And he was the only boy Mary Kate knew who smoked on a regular basis: cigars, cigarettes, pipes, or corn silk. He was a scoundrel of the worst kind.

  Under ordinary circumstances she wouldn’t pay any mind to Jimmy Fisher. But as she watched him stride toward the store, she realized he had grown tall as a stork, seemingly overnight. It must have been coming on him in stages, but she hadn’t noticed until today, and she couldn’t believe it. Mostly, she saw him from afar, and he was always striding in the other direction.

  Jimmy Fisher had begun to leave the skinny boy behind and was cutting the fine figure of a lanky man. His knees were working through his britches, and his wrists had grown out of his sleeves. She noticed how fuzzy sideburns were beginning to grow down the sides of his face. He would turn fifteen this summer.

  With a smug look on his handsome and horrible face, Jimmy saw her and sauntered over to her buggy.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mary Kate Lapp,” he said, placing his hands on the open window. “I see you’re taking your old nag out for an afternoon stroll. Hope she can get you home by supper.”

  Blond though he was, you could see a whisper of whisker under his nose. His neck was filling out, and she thought he had a cold he couldn’t shake off before she realized his voice was changing. She looked down, and his boots were like boats.

  It was amazing. She couldn’t get her mind around it. One day Jimmy Fisher was a bratty little boy, and the next he was a bratty young man.

  “My filly could beat your bag-of-bones gelding any day of the week,” she said, lifting her nose in the air.

  He leaned closer to the buggy. “So I hear there’s a little scandal happening out at Windmill Farm.”

  She ignored him.

  “A little ten-pound, bald-headed, diaper-bottomed scandal.”

  She continued to ignore him.

  “Funny how life goes, isn’t it? Who would have ever thought sweet little Sadie would have a race with the stork.” He tsked-tsked, shaking his head, as if he were scolding a small child for dripping an ice-cream cone.