When she felt calmer, Kelly dabbed at her eyes and started the car. She considered calling her mom, but their recent conversation hadn’t been pleasant. The time before that her mother hadn’t minced words: “You’ve made a shambles of your life, Kelly, all for a daughter you may never see again.”
“How can you say such a thing?”
Mom had been silent for a moment, then added, more softly, “What kind of life would she be coming home to if you found her, honey?”
The question still haunted her, and feeling as she did today, Kelly certainly didn’t want to risk another lecture.
So now what? she thought, feeling lonely.
Contact Melody.
And before she could second-guess it to death, she sent a text to Mel’s old number: Can we get together sometime?
Her cell twirped, signaling the reception of a new text.
Melody: I’m so glad you texted me, Kel! Yes! Just name the place and when.
Beyond grateful, Kelly broke into a smile.
Jack spotted Nattie near the park swings, Laura perched primly on the adjacent swing, face to the sun. Nattie’s skinny legs pummeled the air, and her hair swept close to the ground as she leaned backward on the upswing.
Waving, Jack caught Laura’s attention. Then, scanning the area, he noticed her large blue sewing bag on a nearby bench and went to sit, observing from this vantage point. Meanwhile, he was compelled to snap a few nonposed shots.
It was late afternoon, the temperature warmer than was forecast, and not a cloud in sight. The park was filled with summer-delirious children, while the footpath at the perimeter held a few diehard runners and dog walkers.
When Nattie tired of swinging, Laura whispered to her and Nattie twisted excitedly, spotting Jack at the bench, waving fiercely before she scampered away to the slide.
Seemingly out of breath, Laura came over and sat next to him. “They weren’t kidding. It’s awful muggy out, ain’t?” She smiled, adjusted her prim Kapp, and removed a crochet hook from deep in the bag. Quickly, she began to make the familiar loopy chains, glancing up every few moments to check on Nattie.
Jack talked casually of their summer plans, chuckling about Nattie’s most recent activities list, which was sure to undergo revisions as the weeks progressed.
“Ice cream’s high up there, no matter the subject, jah?” Laura said, laughing. She asked about the school meeting, and Jack gave her the gist of it, leaving out the discussion of Laura’s role in Nattie’s life. He paused, considering Nattie’s family drawing, curious how Laura might respond to it.
At an unexpected whoop, the attention flew to Nattie, their antennae ever on the alert.
Nattie stopped, saw them eyeing her, put her hands on her hips, and gave them a scolding look: “What?”
Laura waved and Jack smiled.
Nattie was an intuitive child. She had a talented way of perceiving situations, sensing emotions, putting two and two together. And like any bright eight-year-old, she had her share of harebrained notions, including the most exuberant flights of fantasy, but she also had a knack for coming up with the most insightful reflections.
“So . . . I guess Nattie’s graduated to matchmaking,” Jack ventured.
Laura looked at him and bit her lip. “Hard not to notice. In a way, I’m flattered that she’s ever so fond of me.” She laughed softly, continuing to crochet. “But it worries me.”
“Perhaps she’ll grow out of it.” Their answer for everything, like whistling in the dark.
“Jah, maybe so,” Laura murmured.
They sat silently for a moment. Now and then, Nattie would pause long enough to grin at Laura, eliciting a warm smile back from her. It was comforting to Jack the way Nattie gauged her place, her behavior, her correctness, by confirming it with her sweet-spirited nanny.
It fueled his faith in Nattie’s future. His little girl would do well to model Laura’s respect for hard work, her polite demeanor, and gentle humility. And faith in God, he mused.
Jack was startled by a commanding thud on his shoulder. “Well, lookee here,” San declared behind him. His sister scooted around the bench, wearing off-white capris, a sleeveless lime green top, and designer tennis shoes.
True to form, Laura was already getting up. “Excuse me. I’ll leave you two alone.”
He was about to object, but San was all over it. “Thanks, Laura.”
Watching Laura cross the playground toward Nattie, San sat where Laura had been and folded her arms. Her smile vanished into an expression of dismay. “How is she not hot in that outfit?”
Jack cleared his throat.
San sighed loudly, taking the hint.
“So what’s up, dear sister of mine?” Jack asked, breaking the stillness.
“The sun, moon . . . and the stars,” San replied, her eyes narrowing when Nattie ran from the sandbox and practically leapt into Laura’s arms.
Looking down, San became preoccupied with her shoes, twisting one foot to the left, then to the right. Her short brunette hair was glossy and thick, her eyebrows sharply plucked and finely detailed, her soft complexion creamy white, her brown eyes intense, her facial features thin, which seemed somewhat Italian to Jack with her somewhat prominent nose—not large, more regal—despite their family’s decidedly Scottish background. After all, their great-grandfather had emigrated from Glasgow.
Mimicking her movements, Jack extended his own Nikes for comparative examination. Laughing, San rolled her eyes.
“What?”
“Shoes are ground zero for fashion, Jack. You need a wife, if for no other reason than to coordinate your wardrobe.”
Jack wiggled his foot. “But I just broke these in.”
“They look broken.” San waved her hand reproachfully. “Tell me this, was Nattie with you when you bought them?”
“She was five.”
“You bought those three years ago?”
“At least.”
San frowned. “Did you get Laura’s opinion?”
Jack shook his head, smirking at the image of Laura approving his shoes, and San harrumphed. “It’s rather disturbing when an Amish nanny has better fashion sense than her English boss!”
“Maybe I should marry her, then,” Jack laughed.
San’s face fell. “Don’t even joke about a thing like that, Jack. It’s bad enough that she’s got Nattie speaking that guttural German dialect or whatever.”
“San,” Jack warned. “You promised—”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” She sighed and changed the subject, deftly transitioning to the school meeting.
Jack confirmed what they already knew: Nattie’s diminishing social skills, and her fixation with lists, movies, and stuffed animals, but he kept the drawing under his hat, unwilling to give San further ammunition. His manner must have seemed evasive to his drama-sniffing sister.
“Do I have to call Karen Jones myself?” San asked.
Karen? He must have visibly flinched.
San leaned back. “I met her through my friend Misha’s sister, whose friend Jenny knows her through her neighbor Sally.”
Jack shook his head. San made most extroverts look like wallflowers. She put the net into networking. And yet, in spite of her social skills in the adult arena, and despite her devotion to Nattie, San had only a modicum of tolerance for children in general. “I’ve got Mom’s voice in my head,” she’d once said. “I’d probably strangle my own kid.”
True enough. Having acquired their mother’s tongue, San had a first-class temper and little patience for those who tested it. Woe to the child—or man—who crossed San’s path. Notwithstanding, in her eyes, Nattie could do no wrong.
Nattie spotted her auntie and jumped off the monkey bars, splattering dust and wood chips, as she came running—an awkward out-of-control sprint. She burst into San’s arms. “Auntie Santa!”
San kissed her cheek and held on to Nattie’s hands as she leaned back. “Where have you been all my life, kiddo?”
�
��Waiting for you!” Nattie squealed, gesturing dramatically toward San’s outfit. She stretched her arms to the sky, as if San had scored a touchdown. “You look simply mah-velous, Auntie San! You’re the fashion queen of Wooster. I wanna look just like you when I grow up.”
San and Nattie high-fived.
Modestly, Laura stayed where she was, near the swings, shielding her eyes, a study in all things simple.
“I owe you a shopping trip, don’t I?” San asked, seemingly thrilled that at least someone in her immediate family appreciated her talents.
Nattie applauded the prospect. Then, as quickly as she’d come, Nattie darted away, joining Laura again.
San clasped her hands over one knee. “Well, are you ready for my terrible news, Jack?”
He clenched his jaw.
“The magazine finally offered me the promotion, and they want me in-house this time.”
“Ugh.”
“I’m moving, bro!” San exclaimed with her usual flourish. “Flying the coop and spreading my wings, so excited I’m ready to sing! Yes, Jack, I’m taking a jet plane to New York!”
Jack groaned. Although he had been expecting it, he’d hoped to be wrong. “Excuse me if I don’t break into song.”
“I know, I know. I’m gonna miss Nattie terribly. And my church friends.” She sniffed and gave him a mischievous squint. “And you . . . maybe a little.”
He smiled. “I guess New York isn’t that far away.”
“Hey, I’ll be back a couple times a month. Okay?”
He nodded, and they discussed further details of her move and when it might happen: September, a good three months away.
“I told my boss I couldn’t leave until Labor Day weekend,” San continued, “since Nattie will be starting school the next week.”
Jack frowned, then remembered the school district was starting late this year . . . something to do with construction on a media center.
“I’m replacing Cassie as lead graphic designer. She’s moving up to Paris.” San said, shaping the word with a tone of dismay. Paris was San’s lifetime goal.
Jack chuckled. “The fashion capital of the world. Too bad you’re stuck with New York.”
“Someday, Jack. All in good time, you’ll see.” She turned and peered at him through her dark sunglasses. “So . . . have you given any further thought to Anita? I want to leave you in good hands—that is, female hands.”
Jack waved off the notion: Nattie and San, the two matchmakers in his life.
San folded her arms. “Lord, help my obstreperous brother.”
They both went silent, watching Nattie zip down the slide, whooping it up as she did so, and for the moment, the little princess looked fully and completely happy, apparently without a care in the world.
Another loss for her, Jack realized, remembering the counselor’s litany of Nattie’s misfortunes. In light of San’s imminent departure, and despite the growing concern on seemingly everyone’s part over Nattie’s nanny, Jack was especially grateful for Laura’s presence in their lives.
Chapter 9
Jack and Laura lingered at the park after San’s departure, until mothers began to gather up their children. Close to five o’clock, when bored at last from having repeatedly scaled the fake boulders, Nattie made her way back to them. Jack was catching up on the national news on his smartphone while Laura had resumed her crocheting.
Without batting an eye, Nattie requested a visit to her favorite burger dive, twenty minutes away. Jack turned to Laura. “Would you like to join us?”
Nattie contributed by fluttering her eye lashes, pleading silently with Laura, who graciously agreed.
They climbed into the front bench seat of Jack’s pickup, and Nattie wiggled in between Jack and Laura. And similar to her very telling drawing, she beamed rays of happiness, chattering all the way, telling one story after another. At the drive-through, Nattie ordered chicken nuggets and a large chocolate shake.
“Better not get too used to that,” Jack warned with a wink. “This is the summer of green salads.”
“Instead of purple salads?” Nattie giggled, glancing at Laura. “Junk food’s okay once in a while. Even Laura says so.”
Laura elbowed Nattie. “Don’t throw me under the bus, Lieb.”
“Just sayin’.”
Jack ordered something with fish and turned his attention to Laura.
“Nothing for me,” Laura replied. “Denki.”
Immediately, Nattie shook her head and launched into a stream of Deitsch, and Laura chattered back. Sighing, Laura peered up at the menu board. “Well . . . maybe just—”
“Nuggets?” Nattie suggested. “There’s all kinds of sauces, you know—barbeque, honey mustard, chili, ranch, chipotle, and the best of all, chocolate malt!”
“Chocolate malt?” Jack muttered.
Laura was laughing softly, eyes twinkling. “Nuggets sound awful gut, actually.”
Nattie cheered, urging her uncle to ask for a sampling of every sauce flavor. When their order came, they headed for the highway leading to Apple Creek. Shortly before the road turned into Main Street, and just past a long line of picturesque farms, was the road leading to Laura’s cousins’ white clapboard house.
Nattie continued to daintily eat her nuggets, urging Laura to experiment with the sauces, making a game of it, voting on which flavor was best and second best, etc.
When Laura tried Nattie’s favorite milkshake sauce, she murmured approvingly. “Not so bad.”
“Your turn,” Nattie told Jack, holding out a nugget just dipped in chocolate malt.
Jack opened his mouth, chewed reluctantly, and had to concur. It wasn’t the worst thing. Actually . . . it was almost good.
“Told you,” Nattie exclaimed as she and Laura high-fived and shared another Deitsch aside.
Maybe it’s time I learned their language, he thought, turning into the driveway at the familiar black mailbox with Peter & Lomie Troyer in tall white letters. They followed the dusty road to the rambling farmhouse nestled near a grove of trees. The white clapboard house with its welcoming front porch was surrounded by flower beds—pansies of all colors, snapdragons, and red and white petunias—no doubt Laura’s handiwork. On the opposite side of the road stood the barn and pony stable, next to Laura’s repaired car, which her cousin must have retrieved.
Jack opened the door of his truck to catch a breeze. Nattie hopped out and headed for the new Shetland ponies, chattering to Laura all the way to the barn.
Jack found Nattie and Laura whispering together inside the stable, the twin baby ponies nudging their soft noses into Nattie’s open palms. “Where’s their mother?” Nattie asked in a hush.
Jack glanced at Laura, who gave him a sympathetic look.
“She’s out in the field,” Laura whispered, “but look how well they are doin’ on their own, jah?”
On the drive back to Wooster, Nattie was unusually quiet—missing Laura, Jack assumed—while he considered various ways to broach the subject of her curious drawing.
“What’re we doing tonight?” Nattie asked, crossing her legs and patting out a rhythm on her knees.
Jack reached over and put his hand on her shoulder. It was time to talk. “So . . . I went to that school meeting today,” he began.
“To see my teacher.”
“And your counselor.”
She grimaced. “Did they ask about me?”
Jack chuckled. “Funniest thing,” he continued, turning off the highway, “they congratulated me on my upcoming nuptials.”
She turned to Jack, brow furrowed. “What’s a nuptial?”
“Well, it’s marriage.”
“Oh.” Nattie squeezed her eyes shut, her expression twisting as if dreading what was to come. She pointed off to the right. “I think my friend’s cousin Madison lives out here somewhere. But her dad doesn’t. Not anymore.” She sniffed, and Jack went on, gently prying her back to the topic at hand.
“Anyway, your teachers had the strangest notion
that I was getting married to Laura.”
Nattie pooched her lips.
“Any idea how they might have come to that conclusion?”
“Well . . . kinda.”
“I think you have some explaining to do, young lady.”
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Well . . . it sounds pretty bad.”
“I know, I know,” she said, and he could almost see the wheels turning while she devised her excuse.
A few moments ticked by as they turned onto the street leading to theirs. Nattie pointed again. “My music teacher, Mrs. Adler, lives over there—”
“Nattie . . .”
“I’m thinking,” she said, sighing softly. “I guess I was only following what Jesus said to do.”
“Come again?”
“Remember what Pastor Al said last week? Jesus said that when we pray we’re supposed to believe that we’ve already received whatever we’re asking for.”
“Hmm.”
“I figured I was supposed to act like I’d already received it, and since I was praying you’d marry Laura, it made perfect sense.” Nattie sat there glowing, seemingly thrilled with her airtight defense.
“You are quite the clever girl.”
She nodded. “I get that a lot.”
Jack thought back to the story he’d recently read about George Mueller, clearly a man who lived by faith, and considered how he would explain to an eight-year-old at what point faith became presumption. When it becomes manipulative, he figured. “That’s not how God rolls, honey.”
“Okay. So I won’t do it again,” Nattie promised, using her favorite get-out-of-jail pass phrase, the one she’d long ago determined could end any discussion of bad behavior.
“You won’t, eh?”
With both hands, Nattie held up two uncrossed fingers, like two peace signs, promising without conditions.
Jack sighed. Okay, he thought. Fair enough.
He recalled overhearing a conversation Nattie had initiated with Laura about prayer, and Laura had given her a thoughtful answer: “God can give us what we ask for, but He can’t just give us character. Character is what we give God. Character is forged by faith and persistence and doing the right thing.”
Child of Mine Page 7