The Tempted Soul

by Adina Senft

  And then they drove into the yard.

  Carrie’s hands went slack on the reins, and Jimsy came to an obedient halt. Beside her, Lydia seemed to have turned to stone.

  Then she dragged in a breath that sounded like a sob. “See? I told you. I knew this would happen.”

  In front of Jimsy’s forefeet lay the bassinet, its mattress and cheery blanket tumbled in the dirt. Tiny baby clothes in pale blue and green and white were scattered across the gravel in front of the walk like so many leaves, and the changing table hung at a drunken angle off the bottom step of the porch, three of its legs digging into the weeds of what had once been a flower border.

  “I don’t think Daed likes Mary’s choices.” Lydia’s voice trembled, but whether it was from fear or tears or hysterical laughter, Carrie couldn’t tell. Maybe it was all three.

  Abe Zook appeared on the porch, wiping his hands on a rag. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  Lydia sat silently on the passenger side, all the color drained from her face.

  “You can pick up all this nonsense and take it somewhere else. And I hope you have a place to sleep, because it won’t be here.”

  With a sense of shock, Carrie realized that the splash of color that lay in the weeds beyond the changing table was not flowers. It was the baby quilt she and Amelia and Emma had made for Lydia—a watercolor nine-patch made of soft colors of flannel to keep her baby warm.

  Carrie was not a feisty woman. She lost her temper about once every decade—and never with someone outside her family.

  But their quilt, tossed aside as though it meant nothing! Just like little Rachel and Lydia—tossed out as though they meant less than the scraps that went to the hogs. Something snapped like a rubber band, right in the center of her chest.

  She jumped out of the buggy and, fists clenched, marched up the steps until she was nose to nose with Abe Zook. Since he was a good six inches taller than she, it might have looked silly. But clean, howling rage made her tower over him in spirit, even if she didn’t in body.

  “How dare you!” she said in a voice that she could barely control. “How dare you treat your daughter this way—so cruel and so careless and so completely lacking in compassion!”

  “She ain’t my daughter.” Abe took a step back as though he thought Carrie might take a swing at him.

  “She grew up in your house and calls you Daed,” she said, hissing like a furious goose. “And even if she isn’t yours by blood, God’s Word tells you to have mercy on the widows and orphans. You are a travesty of a man, Abe Zook.” She flung out an arm, and he pulled in his chin in surprise. “Your granddaughter is in that buggy. She is five days old and deserves a home and all the love that’s left in that dried-up walnut you call a heart!”

  “Ain’t my granddaughter, either,” he pointed out. “None of my blood in that child. I got no obligation to her.”

  “You have an obligation to your wife,” Carrie shouted. “For her sake a real man of God would take these two in, bring in that furniture and those clothes, and do his level best to bring her up in God’s family, even if you don’t believe she’s a part of your natural family!”

  “Now, you listen, Carrie Miller.” He made up the ground he’d lost in the face of her rage. “You got no call to talk that way to me. However you think I treat them two, you can’t say a thing about my service to this church. You don’t know nothing about what I’ve had to put up with for sixteen years. So you take your self-righteous attitude off my porch and go mind your own business!”

  Carrie didn’t move. If he batted an eyelash, he’d hit her in the face with it, she was crowding him so closely. “Are you seriously telling me you won’t give Lydia and Rachel a home? You’re going to turn them out in the cold?”

  “Give the girl a gold star. Ja, that’s what I’m telling you. You take ’em home if you want to show some Christian compassion. I showed it for sixteen years, and this is all the thanks I get.”

  Carrie had a mouthful of things to say about his Christian compassion, but she gritted her teeth and held them back. “I hope that God gives you from His hand exactly what you’ve given to these two today.” She backed off a step. “If you change your mind, they’ll be staying with us.”

  “I won’t change my mind. Don’t forget your bassinet.”

  And with that, he went into the house and closed the door in her face.

  Carrie snatched up the flannel baby quilt, all the little clothes, as many of Lydia’s dresses and aprons as she could hold, and the bassinet, and bundled everything into the back of the buggy around Rachel’s car seat.

  The horse formerly known as Jamieson’s Victory Dance had never come so close to racing again as he did on that trip home.

  Chapter 25

  When Mary Lapp found out what had happened to the baby things she and the other women had so lovingly gathered together, it was a very good thing that Abe Zook’s eternal destination was in God’s hands and not hers.

  “She was fit to be tied,” Melvin told them at dinner, after he and Joshua had brought in the furniture and set it up in the room where the quilt frame had been. “Aunt Mary is a force to be reckoned with when she’s calm. She got so riled it was all I could do to keep her from marching over there and giving him a good sound spanking.”

  “Surely not.” For Lydia’s sake, and with the gravity of the situation, Carrie told herself she must not laugh. But oh, it was good to know that the bishop’s wife was firmly on her side in this, at least. It was good to know that she was doing the right thing in the eyes of the community.

  “That woman has brought up five girls with a firm hand,” Joshua said, shoveling stew and potatoes into his mouth with the appetite of a single man. “Abe Zook would probably benefit from a good spanking.”

  Carrie glanced at Lydia. It was probably wicked of them to criticize her father in front of her, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she didn’t seem to be listening at all, and she’d hardly touched her plate.

  “Eat some stew, Schatzi,” she urged her. “You need to get your strength back.”

  Obediently, the girl spooned stew into her mouth, but her actions were those of someone whose mind was far away. Those stitches weren’t going to heal without some nutrition to work with, and once she’d eaten, maybe she could coax her upstairs to lie down and rest.

  And then, while Carrie was feeding Rachel, she might speak of the hope that lay on her heart.

  “How are you feeling, Lydia?” Joshua ventured when it seemed clear Lydia was not going to eat any more.

  She focused on him as though he was a long way away. “All right. Sore. Itchy. Like a popped balloon. Anything else you’d like to know?”

  He cradled his hands around his coffee cup. “There’s that cranky female I’ve come to know. You must be feeling better.”

  “I almost died. It’s going to take more than a plate of stew and some whoopie pies to come back from that.”

  “These are good whoopie pies.” He took a second one and bit into it with relish. Her bad temper didn’t faze him at all. “If anyone can come back, as you say, from what you’ve been through, it’s you. Nothing keeps you down for long.”

  She pushed back from the table. “Denki for supper, Carrie.” Politeness came with an effort. “And for everything you did today, including yelling at Daed.”

  “You yelled at Abe Zook?” Joshua gawked at her. “You?”

  Carrie ignored him, taking heart at the way Melvin was hiding his smile behind his coffee cup. “I’ll help you upstairs.”

  Lydia, who had probably taken for granted the ability to run up a staircase two at a time, moved from one step to the next as slowly as a Grossmammi. Carrie managed to help her undress and put her nightie on moments before Rachel woke for her feeding. With a sense of relief, she fetched the bottle of formula she had ready in warm water on the stove, and settled into her own “mommy chair”—the rocker that had been a wedding present from Susan and her husband. With a couple of qui
lts tossed over the seat and back, it was as comfortable as the one in the hospital—and no one would be coming in to take the baby away.

  No one but her mother.

  Carrie pushed the thought away and reminded herself she must only speak when the moment was right.

  Lydia hadn’t gone to bed, as she’d expected. Instead, she shuffled across the hall and leaned on the doorjamb. “You hold her so…” Her voice trailed away. She had to be too tired for speech. This couldn’t be the moment. Carrie should bring this up another time, when she was stronger.

  But there was that unfinished sentence. “So…?” she prompted softly.

  “So…like you love her.”

  Rachel sucked like she meant business. Such a strong little thing, determined to get ahead in life after her rough beginning. “I do love her. I think I’ve never loved anything so much.”

  A smile flickered on Lydia’s mouth. “Even Melvin?”

  “It’s a different kind of love. I love him, and I love my family, and I love Amelia and Emma—all in different ways. And with Rachel, it’s different still.” She took a breath, more to calm her quickening heartbeat than anything. “If you mean to go through with your plans to leave, I would—I hope—” She swallowed. “I would like to love her tomorrow, too, and the day after that, and all the days of her life. If you do not want to be her mother, Schatzi, please let me be.”

  It was not eloquent. It was not even coherent. But it was the best she could do.

  Silence filled the lamplit space between them, the only sound Rachel’s fierce attack on the bottle.

  “I think you really mean it.”

  “I do mean it. With all my heart.” And every cell in her body—every thought in her mind. But she could not say that. She didn’t want to frighten Lydia away by being too effusive.

  “I didn’t want her to grow up Amish.”

  “I know, and I can see why.” Heaven forbid she should criticize Abe’s service to God any more than she already had. “I’m sorry. I’m judging your father, when goodness knows he could judge me for plenty.”

  Lydia snorted.

  “But I think that the home Melvin and I could offer her would not be like the home you grew up in. She would be surrounded by love, and when the time came, she would be free to choose the life she wanted—whatever that might be.”

  “I don’t want to see her, you know. She could grow up calling you or anyone else Mamm and I wouldn’t mind.”

  She could. Was that permission? Carrie hardly dared to hope—she tamped down the leap of her heart and considered what she’d said instead. How could she say such things? How could anyone not want to see this beautiful child, to watch her grow, to love her the way she deserved to be loved?

  “If you say so,” she whispered. “Does that mean…?”

  “It means I’ll think about it. I need to get some things set up—a place to live, a job. If I decide to go through an Englisch adoption agency, I’ll let you know. But in the meantime, she can stay here?” She moved slowly into the room across the narrow hall and sat on the bed. She took deep breaths as though all those sentences had exhausted her.

  Look after the baby as though she were her mother for a couple of weeks? Knowing at the end of it Rachel might be taken away anyhow? How much pain was she going to be required to bear?

  Two weeks of motherhood is better than none. And Rachel will know it. She will know that someone—two someones—in this wide world loved her as their own.

  “Ja,” Carrie said. “She can stay here with us for as long as you need.”

  She put the bottle aside and lay Rachel against her shoulder. The baby knew her, knew her smell, knew the soft spot that she fit in as naturally as though it had been made for her. She could not look at Lydia, who didn’t seem to realize how much pain she could inflict by her casual words—how the course of her baby’s life depended on how she felt on the whim of a moment.

  By the time Carrie had mastered her emotions and put Rachel down on the flannel quilt, Lydia had pulled the covers over herself, curled into a ball, and fallen asleep.

  That was gut. Because there were times when a woman had to put a watch on her tongue, or lose everything she valued just for the satisfaction of saying what she really thought out loud.

  * * *

  The coffin, Boyd Steiner told Melvin later, was the smallest he had ever made. It was also the most beautiful, with perfect joints and a glossy finish.

  Even as they’d driven to the cemetery, Carrie wondered whether the Gmee would turn out in memory of a life that had barely begun before being snuffed out. Would they shake their heads, muttering about illegitimacy and sin, and spare a thought for Abe Zook as they declined to come?

  As soon as they turned the corner onto Edgeware Road, Carrie had her answer. A long line of buggies moved slowly into the cemetery, and more people, clad in Sunday black even though it was Monday, were walking toward it on the wayside. The river of mourners puddled around the tiny grave site, where a stone paid for by the Gmee would rest.

  “Baby Zook,” it would say. And the dates of birth and death would be the same.

  Carrie’s throat closed up. It had been difficult enough to get a name out of Lydia for Rachel. She had never even acknowledged the death of her little boy, much less spared a moment to name him. In her own mind, Carrie thought of him as Joshua. Though it was tradition to name a child after its grandmother or grandfather, Carrie couldn’t do it. The little boy would never, ever carry the name Abe, even in the depths of her imagination. And Joshua Steiner, say what you would about his past, at least had cared enough about Lydia and the children to offer his name to them.

  It wasn’t his fault the offer had been soundly rejected—twice.

  For all the crowd, the service was fairly short, though Bishop Daniel didn’t miss the opportunity to give a homily on the wages of sin. But at least he also spoke of the beauty of innocence, and how this tiny soul would be cradled in the hand of God for eternity, sure in His love.

  Carrie was the only one who wept. Even Amelia and Emma, who stood together at her left shoulder as solid as a bulwark, were dry-eyed, though Amelia came pretty close to it when she saw the tear roll down Carrie’s cheek.

  She must not go to pieces. A wave of heat rolled up from her chest as the bishop announced a hymn, and she swallowed. The black dots flickered at the edge of her field of vision. Oh no. Deep breaths. She couldn’t faint—she was holding Rachel, all bundled up against the unpredictable April weather. She would sooner die than put her in any danger.

  Melvin heard the change in her breathing and looked down, his brown eyes worried. Are you all right?

  More dots. Oh dear.

  She had just enough time to thrust the baby into Melvin’s arms before the black dots all rushed together and she slumped to the ground.

  Carrie heard the commotion—knew Amelia’s voice as she called for her mother, the Dokterfraa. She could tell when Ruth Lehman bustled up and took her wrist in one hand to check her pulse, could feel her hands on her cheek. But not for the world could she open her eyes or speak to let them know she was all right.

  It wasn’t until someone—ah, Erica Steiner, who carried baby wipes in her pockets, she must remember to do the same—moistened her face that she took a deep breath and found she could move. “I’m all right. Really.”

  “Can you sit up?” Ruth asked. “Goodness, child, it was lucky you gave that baby to Melvin. It could have rolled right into the grave.”

  Carrie had been standing close to the lip of the tiny hole, in the place where the baby’s family would have been. With no Lydia and no Abe Zook to glower at her, Carrie had felt no compunction about stepping up so that Rachel could say farewell to her twin.

  “I’m fine.” She struggled to her feet. What a strange sensation. She lowered her voice for Ruth alone. “This isn’t the first time. Maybe I should see you about a cure for it.”

  “Nothing good red meat and dark-green vegetables won’t cure,” Ruth whispe
red back. “We’ll talk later. The bishop is going to give the blessing, if you’re all right.”

  She felt almost normal—well enough, in fact, to go to the tea afterward at the Lapp farm, though Melvin wouldn’t let her stay long.

  “Are we meeting tomorrow?” Emma asked her at the door, holding Rachel as Carrie put on her coat.

  “I sure hope so.” Amelia came to join them, glancing over her shoulder at Eli. “My gut Mann is taking me to pick up the boys at school, and then we’re going to Mamm and Daed’s for supper, otherwise I would visit longer.” She hugged Carrie in apology, then bent to kiss Rachel. “You little darling, so good as we said good-bye to your tiny Bruder. Not a cry did you make.”

  “Not even when I nearly dropped her,” Carrie said ruefully. “Thank goodness you were all with me. And ja, we will certainly meet tomorrow. Amelia, I think it’s your turn.”

  “Though with Zachary and Rachel coming with us, we may not get much done but talking,” Emma said as the little boy staggered out of his aunt’s arms and wrapped himself around Emma’s leg.

  “Designing a quilt isn’t much more than talking,” Amelia told her. “I think we should do another baby quilt. The one we made for Rachel was fun.”

  “For whom?” Emma raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t go getting ideas, you.”

  “It never hurts to have a baby quilt in reserve for anyone who might need it.”

  Emma snorted, and Carrie exchanged a smile with Amelia behind Rachel’s tiny head. Emma knew perfectly well that the two of them were watching her like a pair of hawks for the first signs of being in a family way. And she never missed an opportunity to laugh at them for it.

  Emma had waited twelve years for Grant. Carrie hoped devoutly that she would not need to wait that long for his baby.

  When they got home, Carrie took a squirming Rachel into the house for her feeding while Melvin looked after the horse.

  “Lydia, we’re back,” she called as she went into the kitchen and put a pot of water on to heat. “The service was so uffrichdich, so fitting for—” She stopped. “Lydia?” The house had that empty feeling—one that Carrie knew all too well. Had she gone for a walk?