SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  How’d they get away so fast? I wondered. And why?

  I was heading back around the side yard toward the gazebo when I heard another sound. The sound of a kitten fussing.

  “Lily White, is that you?” I called. “Here, kitty kitty.” I waited for Lily to come strutting her regal white self, but seconds passed and she didn’t come.

  Then I heard it again. This time louder. It didn’t exactly sound like a kitten now, although with all that had just happened, maybe I was too shaken to sort it out.

  I searched the area around me, listening, following the sound. “Lily?” I called again, beginning to worry that she’d gotten herself caught somewhere. I turned to look toward the willow grove, but it was getting too dark to determine anything without a flashlight. “Lily, are you stuck?”

  The cry came again. And I began to realize it was not coming from the willows. The sound was coming from the backyard. From the gazebo.

  I rushed to the white-latticed outdoor room. Inside, I noticed a pile of clothes. My throat turned dry. Aren’t these the same ones I saw in the pickup—in the stranger’s hands?

  Now they were all bunched up in the corner. Yet the sound came from inside the heap of clothes. Cautiously, I approached the mass of laundry, or what I thought to be clothes, and when I focused my eyes in the darkness, I realized these were blankets.

  Then I heard a distinct cry and curiously lifted the blankets. “What on earth?” I whispered into the night.

  There, in a wicker laundry basket, was a baby!

  I reached out in amazement and touched the thin, pink blanket. The small bundle moved slightly under my touch and began to whimper. “Oh, don’t cry,” I said, finding my voice. “It’s okay.” But I knew it wasn’t.

  I looked around, wondering if someone was hiding out in the darkness. Was this some kind of crazy joke?

  Wait a minute, I thought. Those people…those horrible people. Did they do this? Did they abandon this beautiful baby girl?

  I stood up and found the tin filled with matches and lit a citronella candle. “There. Now we can see better, can’t we?” I said as much to the little one as to the dusk.

  The baby cooed a sweet response, and the sound broke my heart. As I came back to kneel at the foot of the wicker basket, I noticed something. Something I’d missed before. A note pinned to the blanket.

  Quickly, I removed the safety pin. And holding the note up to the candle, I began to read.

  Chapter

  5

  To the finder: I am two months old. My bottle is in the basket. Please take care of me and love me as your own.

  I smoothed the paper and read the words again. Love me as your own….

  I hid the note in the basket and leaned close to the infant girl snuggled inside. Her eyes were closed, and her tiny face was wrapped in an angelic glow.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whispered, stroking the satiny cheek. “I will take good care of you. I promise.”

  Gently, I searched the basket for a bottle. Babies needed to be fed every few hours. I knew that because my twin cousins seemed to be hungry all the time.

  Deep in the basket, I found an eight-ounce bottle filled with milk. The nipple had a plastic cap, and there were several bottles of ready-made formula and some disposable diapers, too.

  “Well, looks like someone planned ahead,” I mumbled. But I was worried. Had the baby’s parents truly abandoned her? And if so, why?

  The idea of leaving a baby outside alone, even on a warm summer night, angered me. What were they thinking? I sat next to the wicker basket, never taking my eyes off the pink cheeks and the rosebud lips. “You’re the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen,” I whispered. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and I thought I would cry. “How could they leave you?”

  Tears sprang up and I let them fall. Silently, I cried for the baby nobody wanted. And I prayed. “Dear Lord, please help me take care of her. This darling little gift.”

  I stopped praying and clutched my aching throat. A gift! Is the baby truly a gift from God…to me?

  My prayer!

  Suddenly, I remembered. I’d prayed a prayer this very day—in the dank, dark cellar where I’d taken a shower to cool off. What exactly had I said to God?

  I pondered my words. What had I prayed? Something about finding it in His will to help me. I hadn’t specifically asked for a person—certainly not a baby—to fill the hole that Faithie’s death had left in me. But now that this incredibly marvelous baby was here, I was beginning to wonder.

  The light from the candle on the table cast a soft pink glow on the sleeping infant. She stirred peacefully, and as I watched, something in me longed to hold her. Strong feelings of responsibility and of love sprang up in me. I’d never felt like this about a baby. Typically, babies scared me to pieces, made me uncomfortable. When they first had come for a visit, even my baby cousins, Ben and Becky, made me nervous.

  I gazed at the baby in her wicker bed. She was different somehow. “Let’s make sure you’re all right,” I said, reaching into the basket.

  I brought her up into my arms. She lifted her tiny fist and waved it in the air. I put my finger next to the plump little hand, and she grabbed hold with a mighty grip. Slowly, I carried her to the table, where the citronella candle sent out its rosy glow. I wanted to get a better look at the sleepy bundle.

  There in the candlelight, I pulled back her limp blanket and saw only the lightweight cotton undershirt and diaper she wore. I placed my hand on the soft chest and tummy.

  “I think it’s time to give you a name,” I said. “I’ll name you Charity. Baby Charity.”

  My words, the loudest I’d spoken, must’ve startled her because she opened her eyes. I looked down into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen—as blue as the heavens. Charity squinted at the candlelight as if to say: I’m trying to say hello, but it’s too bright.

  I wrapped the pink blanket around her again and picked her up, moving back into the shadows of the gazebo, away from the light. “Do you like your name?” I whispered, almost cooing as I spoke to her. “It fits you.” I sighed. “You don’t know it, but I had a twin sister named Faith. I think she would be very happy to know that you’ve come to me.” Again the tears fell, dripping off my chin onto Charity’s baby blanket.

  Now that she was here—this amazing gift from God—what was I going to do with her? I was sure Mom and Dad had already retired for the night. A quick glance at the house confirmed that. Mom probably thought I’d already gone to bed. And Dad? Well, he’d been zonked out earlier. I envisioned him stumbling up the back steps to bed, exhausted as usual.

  For years now, I’d gone to bed on my own without the old childhood tucking-in ritual. I think it was Mom’s way of letting me grow up, spread my wings. Although, if I’d been honest, I would’ve told her I missed it—being covered up and kissed good-night.

  I leaned down and kissed Charity’s soft forehead. “I know what we’ll do. We’ll sleep outside together, right here. It’s a nice, warm night, and this way, you won’t wake up my parents. They don’t need to know about you just yet.” I wanted to savor this precious moment—my special time with Charity—just the two of us. Before anyone else found out. At least for tonight, she belonged to me.

  I kept talking softly to her, the way I did to my cats, who by now were probably sacked out on my bed. “We’ll sleep together here in the gazebo, over in the corner just like Faithie and I did once.” I caught myself before I said more. But I couldn’t stop the memory.

  That splendid night was as clear as though it were yesterday. It had been one short month before Faithie died. She’d begged to sleep out under the stars in the gazebo. We were really young—seven, going on eight, but surprisingly, Mom and Dad had agreed. They’d left their windows wide open. Just in case we needed something.

  Thinking back, I was sure it was a granting of a “last wish.” My parents knew Faithie was dying, and she could be mighty determined sometimes.

  Rachel Zook had joined u
s that night. Rachel’s mother had insisted that she bring along her pony and tie him to the gazebo railing—to alert us if there were strangers lurking. But we never feared. Barely slept, either. We were three kids having a good time. One of the last good times before…

  All of it came rushing back. The sweet, fresh smell of honeysuckle filling the air. And the fireflies. Trillions of them.

  I cuddled Charity next to me and felt the steady rising and falling of her breathing. She felt good in my arms. I wanted to hold her forever.

  All around were blinking fireflies. And the fragrant aroma of honeysuckle. The air was thick with summer sounds and smells. Charity sighed in her sleep the way Faithie often did.

  It was as though time had flip-flopped.

  Chapter

  6

  Baby Charity soon became restless. Instead of waiting for her to cut loose with the demanding cries of a hungry baby, I offered her the lukewarm milk in the bottle. She was more than willing to take it and made the gurgling, contented sounds of eager sucking.

  When the milk was half gone and she was slowing down a bit, I put her up on my shoulder the way I’d seen Aunt Teri do it. Charity let out a few resounding burps and cooed a bit, then seemed fussy again.

  “You’re still hungry, aren’t you, sweetie?” I turned her around and placed her in my arms, offering her the bottle once more. While she drank, I pretended she was my own baby, singing softly the way a real mother would.

  My thoughts drifted to Charity’s mother, wherever she was. Had she been the teenager I’d seen in front of the house? Was she being forced to give up her baby?

  Shivering, I remembered the frightening incident that had brought me outside in the first place. The girl had needed help, that was evident. She’d pleaded with the man in the driver’s seat. Sobbed pitifully. But the man in the blue pickup was relentless. Who was he? Certainly not the father of this baby. This wonderful baby!

  I glanced down at Charity, now sound asleep. She was so helpless—no parents. No mother to care for her. I touched the top of her head, where her light brown hair formed tiny ringlets. I was the one Charity needed. A girl like me would never let her down. Never!

  Yet two sides were arguing inside my head.

  I found her! She’s mine! the selfish, dreamy side insisted.

  You’re just a kid yourself, the opposite side reasoned. You can’t take care of a baby!

  My heart pounded ninety miles an hour, and eventually the selfish side of me won out. I put Charity back into her basket. Certain that she was in a deep sleep, I hurried to get the pad off the new chaise lounge in the yard. It would be my bed for the night. As for a cover, the night was still warm, but I borrowed one of the lightweight blankets left behind with Charity.

  Peacefully, we settled down in our enchanting gazebo house. I situated her in the most well-protected corner and lay beside her, watching her in the moonlight. Minutes later, I gave in to droopy eyes.

  My sleep was sweet, filled with a glorious dream. A wonderful voice said, “Your prayer has been answered, Merry Hanson.”

  In the recesses of my mind, I knew God had given this new baby sister to me. Dream or no dream!

  I awakened with a start. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I leaned up to look at Charity. Her little fist was moving as she peeped her eyes open.

  There were sounds of clip-clopping as a horse and buggy made its way down SummerHill Lane. I wondered if Rachel would be going to market with her mother. It was Friday, and lots of Plain folk would be in downtown Lancaster at Central Market, tending their fruit stands and selling quilts and other handmade things to tourists.

  “We’ve got to have a talk,” I said to the baby. “You need some clothes—and that’s not all. This basket bed you’re sleeping in is going to get very small pretty soon.”

  She gurgled and smiled in response. Such a happy, contented baby! I continued our chat, locating a disposable diaper in the basket, careful not to lose the note from Charity’s mother, or whoever had written it.

  Suddenly, I realized someone was watching us!

  I spun around. Rachel Zook peered into the gazebo. “Ach, Merry. Who’re ya talkin’ to?”

  I noticed her brown work dress and long, black apron. She’d already been out milking. “What are you doing over here at the crack of dawn?”

  Rachel spied the baby. “What a perty baby. Whose is it?”

  “It’s too long a story for now,” I said. “Just promise me something.”

  She smoothed the hair under her prayer Kapp before she spoke again. “Promise ya what?”

  “That you won’t tell a single soul about this.” Desperation seized me.

  Rachel’s blue eyes widened, and she crept closer. “I don’t know…” She paused, frowning. “Where’d the baby come from?”

  I didn’t dare tell Rachel the whole story—not even one smidgen of it. She’d go running off to tell her mother, and before I’d know it, my secret would be out. And my plan ruined.

  “Who is she, then?” Rachel asked.

  “Her name is Charity.” I hoped that was enough to quiet my friend.

  “Charity what?”

  “I don’t need an interrogation,” I said.

  Her jaw dropped. “I didn’t mean to upset ya. I just came over to see if you was up yet.”

  “What for?”

  “Levi wants to talk to ya.” She tried to keep a straight face, but a tiny smirk crossed her lips.

  “Well, I can’t leave Charity alone, so tell him maybe later.”

  Rachel put her hand on my shoulder. “What’s goin’ on, really? This baby…uh, Merry, why don’t ya just tell me about it?”

  “Tell you what?” She’d known me too long. Close friends could pick up on unspoken things easily.

  “You’re bein’ too secretive for this not to be what I’m a-thinkin’.” Rachel knelt down beside me. “Let’s take her over to the farm. Mam will know what to do.”

  I bristled. “This is something I have to do.”

  “Mam’s raisin’ seven of us children, Merry.” My friend wasn’t usually this determined. Amish girls were taught to be yielding and compliant.

  “Just because your mom’s got a bunch of kids doesn’t mean I should give her my baby!”

  “Your baby?” Rachel covered her mouth, looking horrified.

  “No, no, silly,” I explained. “She’s not mine as in my own flesh and blood. She’s mine for another reason.”

  Now Rachel was totally baffled. I could see it in the way her eyes penetrated mine. “Ya still haven’t answered my question,” she said. “Where’d this baby come from?”

  I was about to tell her everything when Charity started to fuss. I knew she was probably hungry. Only one problem with that, though. I had to figure out a way to get inside the house without running into Mom or Dad. Baby Charity needed a clean bottle and nipple.

  “Stay here for a second?” I pleaded.

  Rachel nodded, still kneeling.

  “If she cries, pick her up,” I said. “But whatever you do, stay inside the gazebo. You won’t be seen here!” I grabbed the empty baby bottle and ran to the house. Inside, I slipped into the kitchen without making a sound, then ran some hot water at the sink.

  Yee-ikes! Dad was up—I could hear him walking around upstairs. My pulse raced as I poured a few drops of dish soap into the bottle, creating lots of suds.

  Then I heard footsteps on the steps. Someone was coming! My fingers locked in a frenzy as I poured more water over the bottle, hiding my secret in the sink.

  “Morning, hon,” Mom said, wearing her bathrobe. Then she did a double take. “Merry? Up so soon?”

  Actually, my being up this early wasn’t highly unusual. There’d been several days this summer that I’d gotten up to have breakfast with Dad before he left for the hospital. “Morning,” I replied, avoiding the question.

  She pulled her hair back against her neck and yawned. “It’s sweet of you to spend time with your father like this
.” She headed for the fridge, looking at me for a moment. “Are you washing dishes?”

  I was stuck—trapped!

  “Uh…not really. Just cleaning something I found.” It was true.

  Worried, I glanced out the window and scanned the gazebo. Good. Everything was still under control. But I realized that if I didn’t get some formula into that baby mighty soon, there’d be a major racket going on outside!

  “What would you like for breakfast today?” Mom asked, still sounding a bit dazed.

  “Scrambled eggs and waffles would be nice,” I said, choosing something that would take much longer than cold cereal and toast.

  Mom sighed. “Waffles and eggs coming up.”

  I tried not to be too conspicuous and pushed the bottle down under the soapy water, holding it there. My cat quartet padded across the floor to me. Lily White meowed as if to scold me for staying out all night. Shadrach and Meshach did the same. Abednego eyed me with disdain—the powerful silent treatment.

  “I’ll get your breakfast in a minute,” I said. “Just be patient.”

  Mom closed the refrigerator door and asked, “Are you almost done there, Merry?” She was coming my way!

  “Almost.” I panicked.

  What can I do now?

  Chapter

  7

  I prayed that something would keep Mom from finding out about the baby bottle. Anything to distract her would be fine.

  Bri-i-ing! The phone rang and she went to get it.

  “Thank you, Lord,” I whispered and quickly rinsed the bottle and nipple. Casting a furtive glance in Mom’s direction, I dashed out the back door, leaving the cats behind.

  Swiftly, I hurried into the gazebo, out of sight. Rachel was doing a good job of keeping Charity quiet—letting her suck on one of her knuckles.