When Nattie fell asleep at last, he reached for the remote and clicked off the DVD, then reached up to turn off the lamp. He sat silently, aware of the soft rise and fall of Nattie’s breathing, stroking her hair and listening to the endless rain as it turned into light hail.
Nattie opened her eyes sleepily and smiled. “It’s raining ice cubes, Uncle Jack.” He chuckled, pushing away a strand of hair and kissing her forehead. That quickly, she was out again.
He considered carrying her upstairs but decided to wait until the cacophony of roof chatter had subsided.
Jack thought of his brother, Danny, and sister-in-law, Darla, gone for nearly five years. A car accident had taken their lives, a mere three miles from where Jack now lived. He would never forget where he’d been when he first received the gut-wrenching call—Wichita, Kansas, finishing up a flight lesson.
He had just landed his small plane and was going through some final items with a flight student when he’d noticed a voice message on his cell phone from Laura Mast, his niece’s Amish nanny at the time, a woman he’d never met.
Promptly, he returned the call, and she had answered, unable to conceal her sobs. Within the hour, Jack had refueled the plane, charted a direct course, and was flying to Wooster, Ohio. Laura was waiting for him at his brother’s house, sitting on a couch in full Amish attire, cuddling four-year-old Natalie, stunned and distraught, barely able to comprehend the meaning of such a horrific loss.
After the funeral, the will was read, and he could still recall the looks on their faces when it was revealed that he, not his twenty-two-year-old sister, San, nor Darla’s parents, had been named as Nattie’s legal guardian.
Silence filled the room as the family absorbed the news. Unbelievable. Nattie’s adoptive parents, Daniel and Darla, had selected Daniel’s irresponsible brother to care for Nattie. Jack, the aviation rat, who’d run off to parts unknown to escape his family.
“You have the right to refuse,” the attorney had advised him over the top of his half-glasses, apparently reading Jack’s own stunned expression. San is the natural choice, Jack had thought at the time. Everyone knows it.
But that wasn’t exactly true. San had just graduated from college with a degree in graphic design and had big plans for her life. Anyone acquainted with San also knew that her future couldn’t possibly include wiping runny noses and organizing playdates. Destined for the Big Apple, San intended to conquer the world of fashion one high heel at a time, though at the funeral, she wore shock and grief like a shroud, seemingly unable to absorb the loss. But didn’t they all?
While Jack had been given a few days to consider being little Natalie’s father figure, a decision had to be made soon. If he didn’t step up and if San declined, as surely she would, what then? Darla’s parents, most likely, would be appointed. From the way they’d sat so eagerly in the lawyer’s office, they were obviously rather anxious to get their hands on Nattie.
So let them, he’d thought.
When he arrived at his deceased brother’s place, he found Laura wearing a long gray dress and black apron, holding Natalie on her lap. The child looked so sad and vulnerable, observing this stranger with something akin to reverence. The long lost uncle, he thought. Who never had the decency to visit.
How can I possibly take this on? he’d asked himself. How will I even keep her safe? He scoffed at the thought. He could barely keep himself safe.
“I have to make a decision,” he told Laura, expecting her to register disbelief that he was even considering the guardianship. Instead, she looked at Natalie and back at Jack. “What’s to decide?”
He moved to sit with them. Natalie sniffed, rubbed her nose, and looked up at him expectantly, as if worried that she wouldn’t pass muster, worried that he wouldn’t pick her. It broke his heart. She couldn’t possibly be that aware, could she?
“I’m clueless,” he said to Laura, smiling at Natalie. He touched her little hand, and she grabbed his finger. She giggled suddenly and squeezed harder. “I got you now,” she seemed to be saying. “You’re mine!”
“I’ll help ya,” Laura offered, and the look on her guileless face underscored her promise. He felt strangely moved. Of all the adults associated with Natalie, this young Amishwoman was seemingly the only one who believed in him.
He looked fondly at his niece. Natalie was so prettily dressed and smelled of something soft and flowery. Soon Jack realized his notions of refusal had quickly flown out the window.
He reached for Nattie, and she hugged him back, unafraid. I’ll take care of you, little princess. But before Jack gave his official consent, he exacted a promise from the sister he hadn’t spoken to in years. A big promise.
“Stick around for at least one year,” he’d asked San. “I need all the help I can get.” To her credit, San had already lasted more than four.
———
Presently, he ran his fingers through Nattie’s wispy hair, musing over what Laura would say tomorrow and worried about the meeting at Nattie’s school, as well.
It was after midnight when the thunder and lightning fizzled. He carried his little darling upstairs and nestled her in with her beloved stuffed animals, then reached for Laura’s homemade Double Nine Patch quilt, one of Nattie’s most prized possessions, and tucked it beneath her chin. Sleepily, she sighed and turned over. He also tucked Bear Bear into her empty grasp and kissed Nattie’s cheek.
“Tickles,” she whispered, half asleep, cuddling her critter, her eyes fluttering.
“G’night, princess,” Jack whispered, closing the door to within inches of the doorframe.
He made his way through the house, checking the locks and inspecting the screen on the security alarm: System Armed. Upstairs again, he settled into his room for the night. With Felicia the unicorn facing him from the foot of the bed, Jack stared at the popcorn ceiling. Distant lightning periodically flashed, casting light against the walls.
Considering Nattie’s prayer, he wondered if Nattie’s birth mother ever thought about her. Did she lie awake at night, imagining what Nattie might look like, if she was happy, what her life might have been if she’d kept her? And sometimes he actually considered what she looked like, and if her personality was anything like Nattie’s.
But mainly, he felt sorry for her. Children weren’t just a dime a dozen.
When he thought of his life before Nattie, he shuddered, remembering those first fragile months of his guardianship, captured by her big eyes, thinking he was going to save her. Believing he could stand between her and the typical sorrows of life, yet realizing how silly that seemed. And naïve.
If anything, she’d saved him.
Kelly spent the first full hour of her night shift stocking the shelves. Everything from beans and soups to dog food, while Hailey, her goth-punk co-worker, waited on customers, ringing up candy bars, lottery tickets, coffin nails, and cash transactions for gas.
Later, while Hailey took her break, Kelly manned the front counter. Around eleven-forty, during a lull, a carful of women pulled into number twelve, and one of them popped out to pump the gas. Even from thirty feet away, Kelly recognized her former friend, Melody Hunter.
Not anymore. Melody Cunningham now. Her married name.
Kelly swallowed, her nerves unhinging as she remembered: Mel and Kel, best friends forever since middle school and all through high school, including four years at Ohio State. Kelly had completed a degree in marketing with a minor in accounting, while Melody finished with a bachelor’s degree in history. When they’d returned home after graduation, Mel and Kel continued their friendship and married their guys within weeks of each other. Their babies were born within the same month.
Kelly steeled herself as Melody came in, wearing jeans, a Jesus Heals Broken Hearts T-shirt, and white sandals. Momentarily distracted with her wallet, Melody headed for the cooler in the back of the store without glancing at Kelly.
Aware of the smell of stale coffee and motor oil, Kelly heard the thwump of the cooler door. Quickly Melody appear
ed, carrying a six-pack of cola to the register. She took one look at Kelly, and her eyes bugged out. “Kel? Oh, my goodness, I didn’t recognize you!”
Kelly greeted her warmly, too warmly, her throat tight.
“So how’ve you been?” Melody asked, reaching up to touch her flaxen hair. Her tone seemed genuine, and despite the passage of six years and the addition of five pounds or so, Melody looked the same.
Kelly replied politely, if not robotically, nodding toward the car still parked at the pump.
Melody rolled her eyes. “Girls’ night out. Hubbies are home with the kids, and we spend most of our time obsessing about what we should be trying to forget!”
Kelly forced a laugh. Melody’s exuberance reminded her of the old days, her friend’s throw-caution-to-the-wind attitude, tempered only by Kelly’s measured, sometimes brooding nature.
“How are you really?” Melody asked, edging closer, and before Kelly could answer, Melody placed her hand over Kelly’s, a gesture that unnerved her.
Melody lowered her voice to a reverential whisper. “Did you find her, Kel?”
“No,” Kelly said abruptly, pulling her hand away. “Not yet.”
Melody looked embarrassed and saddened. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She stepped back, sniffing softly. An awkward silence fell over them as Kelly rang up the purchase for her once dear friend, who’d tirelessly campaigned on Kelly’s behalf, praying with her, sometimes for hours at the church, who’d once told her, “We’ll find her together.”
And then, for some inexplicable reason, Kelly began pushing her away, refusing Melody’s calls and ignoring her texts, until they’d stopped coming altogether.
She felt queasy now, her breath shortening.
Melody grabbed her cola. “I’m real sorry we lost touch, Kelly. I mean it.”
Kelly gave her a smile, another shrug, a way of saying, “Things happen.”
“We should get together,” Melody suggested. “For all the old times . . .” It was what old friends said, a polite way of parting, Kelly thought, just before they raced back to their new lives.
Melody paused a moment longer as her eyes took in the dingy convenience store, the kind of work that was well beneath Kelly’s ability. She seemed to evaluate Kelly’s haggard appearance, the faded blouse, the dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn’t hide.
“Are you okay, Kelly?” she asked, and it was the sincerity that tugged at Kelly’s heart. She steeled herself against it. Is my gaunt appearance that disturbing?
“I’m holding up,” Kelly replied, wishing Melody out the door. She was relieved when the car horn beeped.
Distracted by her friends, Melody waved her cell phone, but there were tears in her eyes.
Don’t feel sorry for me, Kelly thought.
“Same number, Kel?”
She was confused at first, then realized Melody was confirming her phone number.
“No,” Kelly lied.
“Well, mine is.”
One last glance, a quick wave. “’Bye, Kelly,” and Melody was gone. Gone to her life of child-raising, girls’ nights out, and a loving husband. A life apparently unblemished by sorrow. A painful reminder of two lives taking different turns.
My fault, Kelly thought when she was alone again, leaning against the counter, remembering the past. And that pitying look in Melody’s eyes, as if Kelly had gone off the deep end. Now, as much as she’d wanted Melody to leave, she missed her terribly. Even more, she missed what might have been and what never could be.
My baby girl’s almost nine, Kelly thought, having ticked off every second of Emily’s life. In reality, she’d raced the clock for years, knowing the longer it took, the harder it would be.
I don’t care how thin I must look, she told herself. Not if it means finding Emily. And she wondered if Melody thought she was crazy for still searching for her daughter all this time—not that it mattered what Melody thought. Because even if the line of people who still believed in her dream was getting shorter, she still had enough hope and faith to make up for all the doubt in the world.
Chapter 5
Jack awakened to the sound of his neighbor’s motorcycle revving to life. He groaned and turned over, covering his head with his pillow. A few tormented moments later, Craig Farley’s passion growled down the street until it became a distant whine.
Last night’s storm had passed, but the wind remained, buffeting the house with the gravelly sound of twigs and leaves. Despite that, the morning sun flickered through the tall trees surrounding the house. It lit up his bedroom curtains with fiery yellow and scattered shadows across the opposite wall.
Jack opened one eye and peered at the clock. Six-twenty. Turning onto his back, he mentally rehearsed the day’s schedule. Taking the wind into consideration, he might have to cancel his training flight at ten o’clock with Todd Creighton, the mayor’s son, a gangly high school student with a need for speed. Depending on the crosswind component, a wind over twenty knots could be tricky stuff for a newbie, even for someone like Todd, who showed up at the airfield in his daddy’s old GT Mustang, a rumbling contraption of sleek metal and wicked curves.
As the owner of Higher Ground, which employed a team of Certified Flight Instructors, or CFIs, Jack set his own hours—sometimes as little as five to ten hours a week, especially in the summer when school break allowed more time with Nattie.
Jack shed the covers and swayed into the bathroom. Moments later, he emerged, saw the bed, fought the urge and failed, landing prone again. Just a few more minutes, he promised himself.
He heard sounds from the kitchen below—a clattering of utensils and plates, the soft thump of the refrigerator door mingled with spurts of Nattie’s muffled laughter, and the scent of pancakes and eggs filtering up. In the background, he could detect the sounds of music emanating from the local contemporary Christian station.
Sitting up in bed, Jack reached for the lamp, then picked up his devotional and found a short two-page biographical story on George Mueller, the nineteenth-century minister who’d funded and managed orphanages purely by faith and prayer, never asking for a cent.
Mueller had spent the night in prayer, asking for provisions, but when dawn broke the darkness, there still was no food in the pantry. Unwilling to give in to discouragement, Mueller seated the orphans around the empty table and must have considered that his grand experiment in faith might fail. Undaunted, he asked everyone to bow their heads, and proceeded to thank God for providing. Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Needless to say, the orphans ate well that day.
Jack closed his eyes and whispered his prayers, asking for direction and wisdom, and thanking God for the answers in advance.
He prayed for Nattie, for Laura and San, and he asked for understanding regarding Nattie’s current troubles, finishing with the usual, Whatever happens, don’t let me fail Nattie.
Just as he finished his prayer, he heard a soft tapping at the door.
“Sweet pea?” he answered.
Her hair frizzy and somewhat scattered, Nattie peeked in, wearing her green robe and froggy slippers. “Breakfast is served.” Pushing in with her elbow, Nattie carried a tray of pancakes, eggs, and half a banana to his bedside.
He sat up straighter, pushing himself up from the mattress. “Whoa, what’s the occasion?”
“You stayed up too late, so I thought—” Nattie stopped suddenly, reconsidering. “Actually, it was Laura’s idea. She thought you might be too tired to come downstairs.”
Jack searched the plate for silverware. “Laura’s?”
Nattie followed his gaze. “Hold on!” She scampered away, leaving Jack to wonder about her latest scheme. Moments later, breathless, she was back with silverware and a glass of pulpy orange juice. She placed them on his tray in an exacting fashion, fully determined to achieve the proper presentation.
“You’ll have to tell Laura how much I appreciate her thoughtfulness.”
Heading for the door, his little green amphibia
n brightened. “I will! I will definitely tell her that.” She turned back again. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Laura’s fixing your coffee. It’s dripping into the thingy. I’ll bring it up when it’s done.”
She dashed away again, leaving Jack to pick through his food. The late-night ice cream hadn’t set well, and after taking a few obligatory bites of breakfast, he decided to hold off awhile, taking a few deep breaths. I’m not twenty anymore.
Nattie eventually returned with the coffee, placed it on his tray, sniffed it once, and said, “Ick.” And then she was gone.
He sipped it in silence, then slipped on his argyle robe, one of the many clothing articles San had threatened to burn. He wandered into the hallway and peered down to the open room below, squinting against the sunlight streaming through high windows along the opposite wall.
Below, Nattie was sitting at the kitchen counter, elbows on the long bar, palms under her chin, accompanied by a furry creature on either side. Laura, wearing a plum-colored dress and matching apron, gave her a cheerful expression and moved about the kitchen with her domestic duties. She placed two strips of bacon in the skillet. They sizzled and spattered, the scent reaching him instantly. Nattie’s favorite breakfast food, next to Pop-Tarts.
He observed for a moment longer, watching as Nattie chattered animatedly, gesturing with her hands, once accidently brushing away her list-making paper, sending it over the counter’s edge. Laura bent and retrieved it, and Nattie continued her conversation. Every few words, Laura would turn and respond, nodding, smiling, or frowning with surprise.
The scene warmed his heart. Laura didn’t just listen to Nattie, and she never patronized her; she participated in Nattie’s world, down to the smallest details. She even knew the names and personalities of Nattie’s stuffed animals, all one hundred of them and counting. And she could recite, nearly verbatim, every one of Nattie’s lists, no matter the topic.
Shortly after his brother and wife had adopted Natalie, they had placed an ad for a part-time nanny-housekeeper on their church bulletin board. Days later, Laura showed up on their doorstep.
Child of Mine Page 3