Piece by Piece

by Laura Bradford

  Lydia’s head bobbed with her answering nod—a nod that seemed far more rote than it did sincere. “That is what Miss Lottie says.”

  “The Englisher you speak to?”

  “Yah. Caleb has told you about Miss Lottie?”

  “Only that she lives somewhere near here and . . .” Trailing off, Dani searched for a way to frame the rest of her answer without leading Lydia to believe Caleb had betrayed some sort of confidence. Before she could, though, Lydia spoke.

  “Miss Lottie lives down the road. Just beyond the second bend. In the winter, when it is cold, there is a fire in the fireplace. When it is warm and sunny, there is lemonade and cookies on her front porch. But always, there is one who will listen and offer wisdom. That is why the walk to Miss Lottie’s home is always long and the walk from her home is always much shorter.”

  “You take different ways?” Dani prodded.

  “No, I take the same way. But it is how I feel inside that makes it different.”

  “Meaning?”

  “When Caleb first brought me to Miss Lottie, I could not stop picturing that day. I could not stop being angry with myself.”

  “Angry with yourself?” she echoed. “For what?”

  Setting her glass on the table, Lydia rubbed at her face, her every movement heavy, taxing. “Perhaps, if I had looked in Rose’s cradle sooner, if I noticed something was not right before I put her down to nap, if I—”

  “What happened to your baby had nothing to do with you.” She squeezed Lydia’s hand until she had her friend’s eyes and attention. “Nothing.”

  “Yah. That is what the doctor said. But how can he be so sure? How can you be so sure? How can Miss Lottie be so sure?”

  “Because crib death just happens. They don’t know why, but it just does.”

  “But—”

  “There are no buts, Lydia. There was nothing you could’ve done. Nothing.”

  Lydia’s answering nod was so labored, so pained, it took every ounce of restraint Dani could muster not to scream at the injustice of it all.

  “You, Lydia Schlabach, are the most wonderful parent I have ever seen,” she said, resting her forehead against her friend’s. “The kind of parent every kid should be allowed to have in their corner.”

  “I miss her so deeply, Danielle.”

  “I know you do, Lydia.”

  “Sometimes,” she whispered, “when I am sitting in the rocking chair, I can still feel her in my arms. But when I look, she is not there.”

  Releasing Lydia’s hand, she pushed back against the table, the legs of the bench scraping against the simple wooden floor. “Would you like something to eat? A cookie? A piece of bread? A—”

  “That is why I have stopped looking. Have you?”

  “I have leftover chicken from last night,” Dani said, throwing her leg over the bench and rising. “And some turkey from the night before.”

  “I give you those things so you will eat them, not save them. ”

  “I eat what I—”

  “In the mornings when I would wake, I would peek over the edge of Rose’s cradle and she would stop wiggling to look back at me.” A slow smile made its way from one side of Lydia’s mouth to the other. “When I would greet her to a new day, she would start to wiggle again. That last morning, when I peeked in, she smiled at me.”

  Dani crossed to the refrigerator and looked inside, the plates of food and pitchers of barely drunk milk blurring in front of her as Lydia continued. “It was a cold morning. But when she smiled at me like she did, it was not cold any longer.”

  Something about the upward lilt of Lydia’s voice had Dani glancing back at the table, the sadness that had weighed her friend down just moments earlier suddenly absent. “When I think of her smile instead of her loss it is easier to wake to a new day.”

  “That makes it easier for you?” she said, letting the door close on the food she had no appetite to eat.

  “Yah.” Lydia turned her head back toward the window. “I am grateful to Miss Lottie for that.”

  “I don’t understand . . .”

  Lydia’s eyes returned to Dani’s. “In the beginning, when I thought of Rose, I could remember only that day. The way she looked. The way I scooped her from her cradle. The sound of my own screams as I carried her out to Elijah and Caleb. The way Caleb tried to help. I would see and hear those things every night when I would lay my head on the pillow. I would see and hear those things each morning when I would open my eyes to a new day. And I would see and hear those things every time one of the children would mention Rose. I could not stop it from happening.

  “That is when Caleb took me to see Miss Lottie. At first, I did not want to go. I did not want to share my sorrow with anyone. But now, I am glad. Because now when I think of Rose most days, it is of Rose—her sweet sounds, her sweet smell, her wiggles, and the smile she gave me that last morning instead of just my screams.”

  Dani pulled a face. “Weren’t you just there? The other day? The day Caleb and I took Nettie for ice cream?”

  “Yah.” Shame lowered Lydia’s gaze to her lap but only for a moment. “That was a day I did not let Rose in as I should.”

  “Missing your child doesn’t mean you didn’t let her in,” Dani argued.

  “No, but it means I did not let her in as she would want to be let in.”

  Chapter 21

  Dani rounded the second bend and slowed to a stop, the crunch of fine gravel beneath her shoes growing silent. At first glance, the house wasn’t much different than the one before it or, looking ahead, the one after it, either. Simple at its core, the house was little more than a freshly painted white square with a few windows in front, a few windows on the side, and a chimney rising from the roof.

  Not far from the side windows was a small garden boasting an array of spring flowers in yellows, pinks, and blues. Nestled among them was a small eastward-facing wooden bench and a birdbath complete with what appeared to be a bird—maybe two—splashing away in the early afternoon sun.

  Returning her attention to the house itself, she noted the screen door, the wide front porch, the pair of cushion-topped rocking chairs arranged to invite conversation, and the small side table perfect for housing the pitcher of lemonade and plate of cookies Lydia had mentioned. Just beyond the house, a small white sedan, parked where a barn might otherwise be, served as proof she’d found the right place.

  “I should’ve known there was a reason I got to making cookies a little while ago.”

  Startled, Dani’s gaze flew back to the house and landed on an elderly woman standing on the other side of the screen.

  “I reckon you’re the one staying out at Lydia’s place.” The door creaked as it deposited the woman onto the porch.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Dani drew in a breath and released it slowly. “How did you know?”

  “You’re English. And you look just like Lydia described.”

  She fidgeted her fingers along her jeans’ outermost seams, only to still them with a fortifying breath. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have come.”

  “Clearly the Lord feels differently or He wouldn’t have led you here.” Miss Lottie beckoned Dani onto the porch with a small nod and a welcoming smile. “And clearly you’re the reason why I practically tore my cupboard apart looking for a bag of chocolate chips to go into the cookies I had a sudden calling to make about thirty minutes ago.”

  She brushed the offer aside. “Please. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Meeting new friends the Lord has chosen to put in my path is never any trouble.” Again, she motioned Dani onto the porch. “Come. Sit. It’s a beautiful day to be outside.”

  “Are you sure?” Dani asked, lifting her fingers as a shield against the sun. “I don’t want to take your time from whatever you were doing.”

  “I was wondering who was going to help me eat those cookies. Now I know.”

  She waited a beat and then crossed to the stairs, extending her right hand as she d
id. “I’m Dani—Dani Parker.”

  The woman took Dani’s hand inside her soft, wrinkly one and shook it warmly. “I’m Lottie—Lottie Jenkins.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Jenkins.”

  “You can call me Miss Lottie. That’s what folks have been calling me since I moved back here more than twenty years ago.” Lottie pointed at the first of the two rocking chairs with her cane. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in that chair right there, and I’ll be along in a few minutes with some cookies. Do you drink lemonade?”

  “I do. But I don’t want you to go to any trouble. Really.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  “Can I at least help you carry everything?”

  “I wish I was still spry enough to decline, but”—Lottie led Dani’s eyes down to her cane—“denial only works for so long before you have to face facts.”

  She liked this woman. Liked her directness, her warmth. “I suspect you’re spryer than you realize.”

  Miss Lottie’s laugh surrounded Dani. “In my mind, I agree. Wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, my body is talking a whole lot louder than my mind these days.”

  Turning, the woman caned her way toward the door, glancing back at Dani every few steps. “So I understand you met Lydia when you were both children?”

  “Yes. We were both eight. We met when I was visiting the area with my folks. We became fast friends that week.”

  “And you kept in touch all these years?” Miss Lottie tugged open the door and motioned for Dani to follow her inside.

  “We were rabid pen pals all through my elementary and high school years. It slowed down when I went off to college and, eventually, got married, but we’ve managed to keep in contact on at least a once-yearly basis since then. Mostly at Christmastime.”

  “I see.” At the kitchen doorway, Miss Lottie again pointed with her cane. “If you can get the pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator and grab us two glasses from the cabinet next to the sink, I can manage the cookie plate.”

  Nodding, Dani collected the pitcher and glasses, waited for Miss Lottie to ready the plate with two cookies each, and then led her back out to the porch and over to the rocking chairs. When they were each settled with a cookie on their laps and a glass of freshly poured lemonade on the floor at their feet, Miss Lottie began to rock, her gaze drifting out over her front yard.

  “How did Lydia’s appointment go yesterday?”

  “Not well.”

  Miss Lottie tsked softly beneath her breath. “God’s will is a tricky thing to understand at times.”

  “In Lydia’s case it sure is.”

  Folding her hands atop her lap, the woman brought her focus back on Dani. “Lydia told me about what happened to your family, dear, and I’m so very sorry for your loss. How are you holding up?”

  She paused her glass just shy of her first sip and slowly lowered it back down to her lap. “I’m angry.”

  “About the accident?”

  “About the accident . . . About decisions I made that day . . . About what I’ve come to realize was my atrocious mothering. . . All of it.” The lemonade sloshed inside her glass as she lifted it to her lips a second time. While it was tasty, it was difficult to get the lemonade past the lump of emotion inching its way up her throat. “But I’m not here to talk about me or . . . that.”

  Miss Lottie’s eyebrows arched above her thick glasses. “Oh?”

  Dani took a second sip and used the moment it bought to find the correct entry point into the sole reason she was there on the woman’s porch in the first place. When she was ready, she set the glass on the floor and lifted her gaze back to Miss Lottie’s. “Do the Amish ever adopt?”

  The woman drew back, clearly caught off guard by Dani’s question. “Do they adopt? Why, yes, in certain circumstances.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, when I was a young child growing up here myself, there was a family who lived a few farms over that perished in a fire. By some miracle one of the children survived. Since no kin claimed him, another family in our district did.”

  “You were raised Amish?” Dani asked.

  Miss Lottie nodded. “I was. But like Lydia’s brother Caleb, I, too, left before baptism. Only when I left, I left. Spent the next forty years or so traveling the world until I finally realized this place and its people are my true home.”

  “I see.”

  “Are you asking about adoption for Lydia?” Miss Lottie asked.

  Dani glanced down at her cookie. “I am.”

  “She could, I suppose. If there was a need for someone to take a child inside her district. But she has four beautiful, healthy children. The Lord has richly blessed Lydia.”

  “He has also taken much from her.”

  Miss Lottie’s eyes closed behind her glasses. “You are speaking of Rose.”

  “Yes. And Lydia’s ability to bear more.”

  “Adoption cannot bring Rose back.”

  Breaking off a piece of cookie, Dani rolled it between her fingers. “You’re right; it can’t. Nothing can. But Lydia is an amazing mother and she said she wanted more children. Said those very words to me just yesterday.”

  “It is not God’s will.”

  She lifted her gaze back to Miss Lottie’s. “Do you really believe that? Or is it just something you’re programmed to say because of your Amish roots?”

  “Believe what, dear?”

  “That everything is God’s will?”

  “Of course I believe that. He is all-knowing. It is His plan, not ours.”

  “Why would God’s plan have Him taking a baby from someone like Lydia? It makes no sense.”

  “I can’t answer that any more than I can answer why He took your family the way He did.”

  Her answering laugh was hollow even to her own ears. “No, that makes some semblance of sense. But Lydia? No . . .”

  Miss Lottie set her plate on the table at her elbow and slid forward on her rocking chair until their knees were practically touching. “Dani, dear, I—”

  “Please.” She held up her hands. “I’m here about Lydia, that’s all.”

  “But—”

  “My idea makes all the sense in the world.”

  “You mean about adoption?”

  “About all of it. Adoption, this God’s will stuff, all of it.”

  Scooting back, Miss Lottie began to rock again, her pace slow yet rhythmic, soothing. “Finding a baby is not as easy as you’re making it sound, dear. And I don’t know of any Amish who have gone the traditional adoption route.”

  “Meaning?” she prodded.

  “Seeking a baby through an agency.” Miss Lottie rested her head against the back of her chair. “That doesn’t mean it’s never happened; it just means I’m not familiar with any who have done it.”

  “But that’s the beauty in all of this. Lydia and Elijah wouldn’t have to go through an agency.” She brushed the crumbled remains of the morsel back onto her plate and sat up straight. “We’d have to sign legal documents, of course, but that’s it. I could even pay the legal fees or court fees or whatever kind of fees it might entail.”

  Miss Lottie toed her chair to a stop, her ears finally catching up with Dani’s words. “Dani, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that if you truly believe in God’s will, there’s a reason why I’m here, in the condition that I am. I mean, really, how else can you explain why I left my home and traveled three-plus hours to grieve my family in the home of someone I hadn’t seen in twenty-seven years?”

  Seconds became minutes as Miss Lottie continued to stare at Dani. “Are you pregnant, dear?”

  A heat she hadn’t expected pricked at the corners of her eyes, but it didn’t last. “I am. I found out last week, even though, in hindsight, the signs had been there for a while. I just thought it was . . .” She stopped, nibbled the tremble from her lips. “I just thought it was everything else.”

  Again, Miss Lottie sat forward, her hands gathering Dani
’s inside her own. “Oh, sweet girl, what a beautiful gift your husband left you.”

  Yanking free, she bolted off her rocking chair and onto a path that took her from the porch steps to the front door and back to the rocking chair before beginning the loop again. “My husband is gone. My mom is gone. My children are gone. I’m the only one left.”

  “You and that baby,” Miss Lottie said, pointing at Dani’s abdomen. “Does Lydia know?”

  On her third trek toward the stairs she turned back to the elderly woman. “No. But she will. Once I know everything I need to know about doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Giving my baby to Lydia and Elijah to raise. As their own.”

  Miss Lottie’s gasp echoed through the air, cutting short a robin’s bath just beyond the side railing. “Dani, you can’t be serious. You can’t—”

  “It’s the answer to everything. For Lydia, and for me.”

  “But don’t you want to look into that child’s face as he or she grows and see your husband? Your children? Because you will, you know. In bits and pieces. It’ll be like they’re still here, as they are in your memories and—”

  She held off the rest of the woman’s sentence with a splayed hand. “I know you have Lydia believing that, and if it works for her, great. But the only thing that hurts more than the loss of my family is thinking about them—about their last moments and what they must have been like.”

  “Things you can’t know, because you weren’t there, yes?”

  Pinching her mouth closed, she nodded.

  “The only way you’ll be able to pick up the pieces, dear, is to focus on the good, to let the memories you made with them fill you up inside until you’re able to keep walking on your own.” Miss Lottie retrieved her cane from its resting spot against the table and scooted forward. “And this baby? This child? It will be a living, breathing piece of them that you can hold close. Always.”

  She didn’t mean to laugh, but, in the moment, she couldn’t help herself. “There is no always when you’re talking about death, Miss Lottie. Surely you know that, right?”