SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  “What are you saying? My mom has no idea about any of this. And I want to keep it that way!” I was completely flustered. Rachel was smack-dab in the middle of things, and now I wished I’d overseen all this myself.

  “Are ya comin’ or not?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “We can’t risk it. If Mom’s hanging out laundry, then she’s already found the note.”

  “Oh, Merry.” Her voice was filled with dread.

  “There’s only one way out,” I said, glancing up the hill—way up Strawberry Lane—to Miss Spindler’s house.

  “Not Old Hawk Eyes,” whispered Rachel.

  “We have no choice,” I replied. “Besides, she already must’ve seen something going on in the gazebo early this morning. She called my mother to tell her so!”

  “Himmel,” Rachel muttered.

  We crouched low and ran across the front yard on the count of three. Baby Charity slept through it, thank goodness. I reminded Rachel of her quilting frolic back home, but she was more interested in the matter at hand. Anyway, we made it around the opposite side of the house without being seen, running from bush to bush, then up…up the steep hill behind our house, arriving at last on Miss Spindler’s front porch.

  We caught our breath for a second, glancing at each other with frightened expressions. “Lord, help us,” I pleaded.

  I reached up to pull the heavy gold knocker on the bright red door.

  Chapter

  9

  Ruby Spindler took her sweet time answering the doorbell. We stood waiting a good thirty seconds before she finally came—whistling.

  “My, oh my. Look who’s come to call!” She was all made up—lipstick, eyeliner, the works.

  “Oh, you’re going out,” I found myself saying.

  “Nonsense!” She opened the door, showing us in as though she’d been expecting us. I wondered about that but dismissed the thought. Miss Spindler was known all over SummerHill for being a bit eccentric. Today was no exception.

  “How’s every little thing?” she asked, motioning for us to sit down on her sofa, which was covered with a fresh white sheet. “What brings you dears over to visit this old lady?” She eyed the basket, then Rachel and me.

  “It’s…uh, something very important,” I said. “Something top secret.”

  Rachel nodded but let me do the talking.

  “I want to show you something.” I leaned over and uncovered Charity.

  Miss Spindler was up and out of her chair in a flash. “Why, in all my born days…I never…” Her voice trailed off. She reached down and picked Charity right up.

  I held my breath, worried that Charity might start to fuss. But I was wrong. Ruby Spindler had a real knack. She cooed at Charity as though she’d been doing it all her life. “Isn’t she the most bee-au-ti-ful thing you ever did see?” Her eyes were focused on the baby as she spoke.

  “Yes, she’s beautiful,” I agreed, “but…” I paused, hoping my words wouldn’t sound harsh. “She’s been abandoned.”

  Miss Spindler’s gaze shot up to meet mine. “Abandoned, you say? How could anyone in their right mind do such a thing? Why, she’s gorgeous. Simply gorgeous.”

  I secretly congratulated myself on this surprising turn of events.

  Miss Spindler was actually very good with Charity, whose tiny eyes were starting to open as the old lady rocked her and talked in a sing-song way.

  “Miss Spindler, I…uh…we,” I looked at Rachel, suddenly feeling it was wise to include her in this. “Rachel and I wondered if you might be able to keep Charity for a little while.”

  Her head jerked up. “Keep her? Here?”

  “Just for a short time,” I said. “While I talk to my parents about some things,” I went on, careful not to explain too much about my plan to convince my parents.

  “Heavens to Betsy, you don’t have to hem and haw about something like this, Merry Hanson. Just out with it! You need someplace to hide this here little one, ain’t so?”

  “Hide?”

  She smiled a peculiar, almost uncanny smile. “Ah yes, I saw you last evening. And again this morning. Hiding in the gazebo, you were.” She cackled a bit.

  I shot a concerned look at Rachel. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  Miss Spindler waved her bony hand. “Never you mind ’bout that.”

  I had to know. “But you didn’t tell my mother about the baby when you called, did you?”

  “Not on your life,” she replied. “I saw what happened. That there feller in the pickup—my lands, what a sad state of affairs!”

  I stood up. “You saw? But how?” Our house blocked her view—it was virtually impossible for her to have seen him. I was sure of it.

  She shook her head. “There, there. Don’t go worryin’ yourself over such trivia. The fact remains, the babe’s been left behind. Now, you two run along. I’ll take good care of my little dumplin’ here.” And she rocked away, calling the baby her precious angel over and over.

  I went to say good-bye to Charity—the gift God had most obviously sent to me. She gripped my finger in her tiny fist. But her blue eyes were fixed on Miss Spindler.

  I was torn between relief and worry. Now I was free to work on my original plan with Mom and Dad, but what about Miss Spindler?

  What if she got wrapped up in Charity while I set things in motion with my family?

  “You don’t mind, do you?” I asked, almost wishing she’d hand the baby back to me.

  “Scoot!” she said, shooing us out the door. “Just let me know when you want her back. In the meantime, I’ll bathe her and buy her some new clothes.”

  Bathe her? Old Hawk Eyes was going to give my future sister a bath? Buy her clothes? Spoil her the way I’d wanted to? I could see this was already way out of control.

  Rachel and I scarcely spoke as we headed down Strawberry Lane to the corner and turned left toward my house.

  “I guess you have a quilting to attend,” I said softly.

  “Jah, I do.”

  We hugged, and tears came to my eyes as she left. For the first time since I’d carried the baby basket into Miss Spindler’s house, my arm ached. And now so did my heart.

  It was next to impossible getting Mom’s and Dad’s attention later at supper. Mom kept talking about how lovely it had been today. “Not hot and muggy—just nice,” she said. “I even decided to hang the laundry out for a change. Oh, and it smelled so fresh when I brought it in.”

  I was afraid she was secretly trying to tell me about the note she’d found in my shorts, but nothing came of it. I even fished around, asking leading questions, but she didn’t volunteer a thing.

  Soon, something else was on her mind—the church potluck a week from tomorrow. And Dad? He began recounting several hectic experiences from his day at the hospital.

  More than anything, I was dying to know if Mom had found the note in my shorts. I’d checked the hamper first thing when I returned from Miss Spindler’s, but the clothes had already gone through Mom’s super-systematized sorting process. In fact, all my dirty shorts from the entire week were flapping in the breeze when I hurried outside later. Unfortunately, the pockets of the gray shorts were one-hundred-percent-amen empty.

  Since the table conversation seemed to be going in several different directions, I decided to postpone my discussion about the baby until dessert. From past experience, I knew it would be futile to work up to something this controversial. And I certainly didn’t want my parents to become suspicious at that type of approach, so I barreled full steam ahead. Skip, my brother, had paved the way with this sort of tactic. Being younger, I’d learned more from him than I cared to admit.

  Mom set a piece of black raspberry pie in front of each of us. Dad reached for his fork and took the first bite while Mom and I watched. It was a kind of game. Mom waited eagerly for his response, and Dad, being the ham he was, dragged out the suspense, rolling his eyes, licking his lips. Finally, he said, “It’s absolutely delicious.”

  Mom
grinned and picked up her fork. Now it was time for the baby discussion….

  “I think we need another kid around here,” I announced. “A baby, maybe?”

  I could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. I took a breath and kept going. “I mean, don’t you think we ought to have another sister for me? Not to replace Faithie or anything, but it would be nice.”

  Dad looked straight at Mom. “What did you put in Merry’s pie? I certainly didn’t get any of it.”

  I sat up. “Dad! I’m serious.”

  His jawline was firm. “That’s what I’m talking about. You had something very strange to eat. Or was it the iced tea?” He looked around, inspecting Mom’s tea glass, then reaching for mine.

  “It’s not a joke!” I insisted.

  “Merry, please,” Mom said. “You seem all worked up about this. Does this have anything to do with Faithie’s…anniversary?”

  I got up from the table, tears coming fast. “I just wish people would take me seriously once in a while.”

  Dad reached out as I ran past him and into the hallway. “Merry?” he called. “I didn’t mean to…”

  I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. But I knew he’d had fun at my expense. And it hurt.

  Upstairs, I found refuge in my room. The cats followed me to my bed, where I collapsed, feeling sorry for myself. “You guys never have any problems, do you?” I said as they came to comfort me with their sweet, furry heads and whiskers. “You sleep, eat, and sleep again. Must be nice.”

  Abednego didn’t appreciate what I’d said. He whined his best retaliatory meow. Twice.

  I pouted, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room. The wall where my best photography had been framed and hung. My wall gallery, I’d always called it.

  Sadly, I tried to imagine a picture of Charity up there—holding my finger with her viselike grip as I held her in my arms. I’d have to set up my tripod for a shot like that.

  The thought was appealing, but I knew a photo of the abandoned baby would only end up haunting me. If only my parents were more understanding, I thought, blaming the negative events of the day on them. I turned on the radio and listened for a while—until Dad knocked on my door.

  “Honeybunch,” he said, using the nickname he used when I was in trouble or upset. “Mind if I come in?”

  I minded, but I wasn’t rude. I sat up and held Abednego next to my face—a defense against whatever Dad was going to say. “The door’s open,” I called, still wishing…hoping things might turn out in my favor.

  Chapter

  10

  Dad sat at the end of the bed. “I’m sorry about teasing you,” he began. “It was uncalled for.”

  His subdued expression gave me courage, and I nodded. “Maybe you and Mom didn’t understand what I was saying earlier.” I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Having a baby would be terribly rough on your mother at her age,” he explained.

  I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant. You jumped to conclusions.”

  “Then I’m totally in the dark here. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, Mer?”

  I thought about Charity—hidden away at Miss Spindler’s—and how she belonged here. “What if we adopted a baby?”

  Mom was standing in the doorway now. I knew by her dubious look that she’d heard what I said. “Don’t you think your father and I ought to be the ones deciding something like that?”

  “I know,” I replied. “It’s something that has to be thought through. People just don’t jump into embracing someone else’s child as their own.” I’d read that somewhere—it sounded good. Besides, I needed to make some points with my parents, who by now looked too shocked for words.

  “Merry, is something bothering you?” Dad asked, frowning. “Do we need to talk about Faithie?”

  “This is about me, not Faithie,” I said, but deep inside, I knew the arrival of baby Charity was linked to Faithie—at least in my mind. Desperately, I wanted to share with them the dream I’d had last night in the gazebo. To make them see the truth about little Charity. That she was God’s gift—my second chance for a sister.

  Dad patted the bed beside him, and Mom sat down. The two of them, along with my four cats, studied me. I tried various approaches in my head, but none of them worked. Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything to say without giving away my secret.

  At last, Dad spoke. “Would it help if we didn’t visit Faithie’s graveside this year?”

  I couldn’t believe he’d said that! “I told you this has nothing to do with Faithie. It’s something I really want—for us to adopt a baby. Couldn’t you and Mom at least think about it?”

  It was my best shot.

  Dad looked at Mom and reached for her hand. “As far as I’m concerned, this isn’t the best time for either of us to be starting over,” he stated. “Babies take an incredible amount of time and energy.”

  Mom interjected, “Your father’s nearly fifty, and we’re both very busy with our present responsibilities.” Her voice grew softer. “Someday, you’ll have babies, Merry. When you’re finished with college and have a husband.”

  My logical approach was getting me nowhere fast. The tone of Mom’s voice told me she needed an emotional push. Something to jump-start her maternal instincts.

  “Okay, let’s just say, for the sake of discussion, that an abandoned baby is found somewhere around SummerHill. And what if that baby is a beautiful baby girl with no one to love her and provide for her?”

  Mom’s eyes were transfixed, and Dad was listening intently. I had them!

  I continued. “What if the baby is so precious and adorable that the person who found her wants to keep her? And what if the person knows for sure that the baby is meant to be in that person’s life?”

  Dad scratched his chin, trying to hide his stunned expression. “My goodness, what a hypothetical situation you’ve cooked up.”

  Mom didn’t wait for me to answer. She stood up and walked over to the window. “What would I do if I found an abandoned baby?” she asked, redirecting the question. “Well, that’s rather simple, I would think. Right, hon?” She glanced at Dad.

  He nodded. “First thing—we’d have to report a missing child. After all, the police should be notified in order to locate the mother.”

  Dad had thrown a wrench into my setup. And worse, Mom was following his line of reasoning.

  “Well, what if the person who found the baby knew the baby had been purposely abandoned?” I said. “What then?”

  Dad mentioned the possibility of kidnapping, completely ignoring my comment. “Unfortunately, babies are taken out from under their parents’ noses every year in this country. Some are sold into the black market. Others are left to die or simply abandoned on someone’s doorstep. How would the person who’d found such a baby know the child hadn’t been kidnapped?” He leaned back on the bed, his hands supporting his head.

  I sighed. Why were they making this so difficult? “To begin with, I just said ‘what if ’ the person knew somehow that the baby was not kidnapped, but abandoned.”

  Dad’s eyes closed as he spoke. “Merry, why don’t you just level with us? Do you know someone who has found such a baby?”

  I was frantic! He’d seen through it. I should’ve known Dad would read between the lines. Mom too.

  “Guess neither of you was born yesterday.” I started to explain. “Yes, a baby has been found. She’s an adorable baby girl…and she’s ours—God showed me that.” I left out the part about the dream.

  I told them the truth. “I was the one who found her—in a wicker laundry basket last night—in the gazebo.”

  Mom turned and stared. Dad was sitting upright now, the lines in his forehead creased into a deep frown. “Someone left a baby in our gazebo?”

  “Merry, why didn’t you tell us?” Mom asked.

  “It’s a long story,” I whispered. But I proceeded to tell them everything, even about the note in my sho
rts.

  Mom gasped. “There was a note, too?”

  “I put it in my gray shorts and then forgot and tossed them in the laundry,” I explained. “Silly me.”

  Mom put both hands on top of her head. “Oh dear. I found several things in your pockets, but I don’t think I threw them away. I believe they’re still on the counter in the—”

  Before she finished, I left the room to find the note. It was exactly the proof I needed. As I rushed through the kitchen toward the cellar steps, I stopped to look out the window. The lights in Miss Spindler’s house were beginning to come on. It was dusk, close to the hour when baby Charity had come to me yesterday. I stared at the tall two-story house an acre away. How I missed my sweet little Charity!

  Quickly, I turned and ran downstairs to retrieve the note.

  By the end of the evening—after pleading with Dad not to call the police (he did anyway) and giving a complete description of the old pickup and the people in it—I knew there was only the faintest hope for Charity’s future with us. But I hung on to the hope tenaciously, prayerfully. When it came right down to it, the baby’s future rested with the police’s ability to track down a clanking blue pickup with an abusive driver and a tearful young woman. The rest was up to God.

  Which brings me to Miss Spindler and the disturbing evening visit with the baby of my dreams.

  Chapter

  11

  Miss Spindler seemed quite distracted when I showed up on her doorstep. “Come in,” she said, treating me more like a stranger than the close neighbor I was.

  “Where’s Charity?” I asked, looking around.

  “Ah, you came to see my baby.”

  The preoccupied expression on her wrinkled face had me downright worried. “I’ve come to get Charity. My father has just talked to the police.”

  “Police?”

  I nodded. It seemed as hard for her to accept as it had been for me. “It’s procedure,” I explained. “They’ll take her to Social Services until they can determine where her parents are.” The lump in my throat made it hard to talk. “If she’s declared an orphan or abandoned, Dad’ll talk to his administrative friends on the Social Services board about putting her in temporary foster care—with us, if all goes well.” And if I can talk my parents into it, I thought.