SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  “My, oh my,” she muttered, fluttering around in a daze. “Going and reporting Charity missing? Why, the little darlin’s been right here all the time.”

  She was crazy-out-of-her-mind distressed. “Miss Spindler…I’m so sorry. I never should’ve—”

  “Nonsense! That youngster has been exactly what the doctor ordered. A godsend…yes indeedy,” she said. “This lonely old woman has missed so much in life, and now…” Her words floated away.

  She’d mentioned God, and I felt upset. How could she latch on to Charity as though the Lord had sent the baby to her ? Careful not to let her see my irritation, I nodded, trying to think of something soothing to say. “If we pray,” I said, “and if it’s God’s will—which I believe it is—then Charity will be right back here.”

  Miss Spindler’s blue-gray hair was curled up in bobby pins all over her head, and she wore an ankle-length white duster. She sat down in an overstuffed chair, and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. Her voice wavered as she told about going to town to buy an infant car seat, disposable diapers, and blankets. “Aw, you should see her dressed up in her new things. She looks right fine—like an angel, if I must say so myself.”

  “You spent money on the baby?” I was truly amazed at her confession.

  “Spent the entire afternoon rounding up all sorts of baby things,” she said proudly. “I even stopped to see one of my dear old friends at the nursing home and showed Charity off.” She grinned, showing her gums. “And don’tcha know—I loved every single second of it!”

  Poor Old Hawk Eyes. She’s gotten too attached.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at, dear?” she asked.

  Sadness for the older lady nearly got the best of me as I stood there in her old-fashioned parlor. Quickly, I looked away so as not to embarrass her. “So,” I said in almost a whisper, “that’s where we stand with Charity.”

  Without another word, Miss Spindler pulled herself up out of the easy chair and went upstairs. I thought of Dad’s comment earlier this morning about someone coming into Miss Spindler’s house and searching it for spy equipment. The thought helped to lighten my tension.

  Miss Spindler was gone only a few minutes before bringing Charity down.

  Half asleep, the baby opened her eyes. Blue as blue can be, I thought.

  “Hello again,” I said, reaching out for her chubby fist. “I missed you so much, but I know Auntie Ruby here took extra-good care of you.”

  Miss Spindler was nodding and beaming. “That she did.”

  It nearly broke my heart to remove Charity from the old woman’s arms. She helped me wrap Charity in several blankets before we headed out. Then she went about filling the wicker basket full of large cans of formula, diapers, and other baby things, saying she would drop by with the car seat tomorrow.

  “There’s a dear,” she whispered as I stepped onto her front porch weighed down with everything. “Good-bye, angel.” She touched the baby’s head lightly. “God be with you.”

  I wanted to reach out and hug Old Hawk Eyes. She’d surprised me with her kind, nurturing ways, and I was grateful. “Thanks for your help,” I said before walking out into the night sweetly fragranced with honeysuckle.

  “I’ll leave the yard light on for you, dear.” Miss Spindler stood on the porch and watched as I headed down the hill toward my house.

  “Thanks again!” I called, knowing full well the people from Social Services would be showing up any minute.

  Arriving home, I hurried into the house. Mom was waiting at the kitchen door for me. For Charity and me.

  In a few seconds, Mom was talking baby talk and making over Charity as if she’d never laid eyes on such a pretty baby.

  “Will you look at those blue eyes,” Mom said as Dad came into the room.

  “Now, remember what I said,” he admonished. “Don’t fall head over heels for a baby that most likely won’t be…”

  Mom held the baby out to him. Reluctantly, he took Charity and held her up to his face. “Lookee here,” he said, sounding something like Miss Spindler. “Well, what do we have here?”

  “So…what do you say?” I said, pushing for an instant decision. “Can we adopt her?”

  Mom and Dad were shoulder to shoulder, peering into the face of baby Charity—my gift from God. I tried to make conversation several more times to no avail. It was amazing—a transformation was taking place before my eyes. For people who’d just said they were much too old and had way too many responsibilities to add to their family at this late date, well…the way things looked from my perspective, the Social Services people could wait and show up tomorrow or the next day. Or never.

  Suddenly, Dad pushed Charity into my arms. “Here, hold her for a minute.” He dashed off to his study, and I heard him close the door. My heart was in my throat.

  “What’s Dad doing?” I asked.

  Mom leaned her head close to Charity’s. “Oh, you might just be surprised.”

  “What?” I pleaded. “Is he calling someone important?”

  “Your father, as you know, is easily swayed when it comes to people with terminal illnesses, emergency situations, and…babies,” she reminded me.

  “I was counting on that.” I grinned down at Charity. This time she was gazing up at me. “Oh, you’re so pwecious.”

  Abednego and his brothers wandered into the kitchen just then. Abednego gave me the evil eye as if to say: Put that human baby down this instant!

  I scolded him. “You get plenty of love and attention. Now, go find your adopted sister!” And I shooed them outside to look for Lily White.

  Mom pulled out a kitchen chair for me. “I’d better give Miss Spindler a quick call,” she said. “It would be nice to know when Charity had her last bottle.”

  Her words were music to my ears. And as I waited for her to chat with our nosy neighbor, I prayed that the person Dad was talking to on the phone would bend the rules and let us keep Charity until she was free to be adopted. “And if not, Lord,” I whispered, “at least let us keep her tonight.”

  It was a long shot, but from what I knew of my heavenly Father, the God of the universe took great delight in performing miraculous feats.

  Chapter

  12

  The phone rang just as Dad was coming out of his study. He hurried back to answer it. I waited for him to return, hugging Charity close. Then he called to me. “The phone’s for you, Merry.”

  I picked up the kitchen phone, holding Charity in one arm. “Hello?” I said, looking down at the darling baby.

  “Hi, Merry.” It was Lissa Vyner. “Just wondered if you got the film developed that you took of me yesterday.”

  I’d completely spaced it out. “Not yet. But I’ll get Mom to take it down to the one-hour place tomorrow,” I promised. “It’s just that so much has been happening since you were here. You’ll never believe what—”

  Dad was waving at me, signaling to me.

  “Uh…just a minute, Lissa.” I handed Charity to Mom.

  Dad hurried over and covered the phone with his hand. “Don’t mention anything about the baby just yet,” he advised. “Lissa doesn’t know it, but her dad just did me a big favor at the police department.”

  I knew Officer Vyner was on the Lancaster police force. He and Dad had become acquaintances because of Lissa’s and her mother’s attendance at our church. More recently, Dad had teamed up with Lissa and me to persuade him to come to the church potluck next weekend.

  “Okay, I won’t say anything,” I said as he handed the phone back to me. I hesitated when I got on the phone again. “So, Lissa, how’s everything?”

  “Merry? You were starting to tell me something,” she urged, not letting me change the subject. “You were saying something about all that’s been happening. Did that weird guy in the pickup show up again?”

  “That’s not exactly what I was talking about.” I was hedging, not knowing what to say next.

  Dad must’ve sensed my distress. “Tell her you’ll call back
,” he whispered, moving his hand in a circular motion in midair.

  “My dad’s waiting to talk to me. Can I call you later?”

  “Sure. But—”

  “Okay, then,” I said and hung up.

  Dad and Mom looked like Siamese twins as they stood together in the kitchen hovering over Charity, who was obviously soaking up their attention.

  “What did Lissa’s dad say about the baby?” I asked. I had to walk over and stand in front of them, waving my arms. “Yoo-hoo! Remember me?”

  At last, Dad tore his gaze away from Charity’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry, Merry. What is it?”

  I asked him again about the arrangement. “Did Officer Vyner say we could keep Charity overnight?”

  He nodded. “We’ve got her for the night—” and here he turned and kissed Mom—“possibly several days.”

  “Really?” I squealed with delight. “That long?”

  “Until the in-state tracking is done,” he said. “By the way, Merry, hang on to that note from the mother. A handwriting analyst may be called in on the case.”

  My heart sank. “I don’t want to help them find Charity’s mother,”

  I wailed. “She doesn’t deserve our baby!”

  Dad’s eyes clouded a bit. “According to the law, she must be punished for this act of desertion.”

  “But what if they don’t find her or the guy she was with?”

  “One step at a time,” Dad said gently, glancing at Mom, who looked smitten with baby love. “Try to be patient. Remember what the proverb says: ‘Be patient and you will finally win…. ’ ”

  I backed away from the three of them and glanced out the window at Miss Spindler’s house. “Someone else is anxious for Charity to stay around here, too.”

  Mom heard me. “Miss Spindler, right?”

  “And she’s not the only one.” I told them about the Amishwomen next door, particularly Esther Zook.

  “Well, we don’t have to worry about the Amish community causing us trouble,” Dad said. “They don’t get caught up in legal hassles.”

  “Must be nice,” I said, contemplating the time involved in locating an abandoned baby’s parents, especially if they didn’t want to be found. I turned toward Mom and the baby in her arms. “It seems like everyone around here wants to claim her.”

  There was no arguing that point. Even Dad nodded his head in agreement. “She’s a dumpling,” he said. “But we have to do the right thing by her, whether she stays with us or not.” Dad usually didn’t speak out strongly about his beliefs, so it surprised me to hear him talk this way. But one thing was certain, he wanted Charity as much as I did. So did Mom!

  My first hurdle was history. Now, if I could just get past the next few days of waiting. Would the police be able to catch up with the rattletrap pickup and its occupants? And what about Miss Spindler? Had she lost her heart to Charity, too? I felt sorry for her—and for putting her in the middle of this.

  Chapter

  13

  I felt even worse the next morning when Miss Spindler came over with the promised car seat and a handful of crocheted baby booties. I met her at the back door, noting that she’d done her hair up in its usual gray-blue puff. Her cheeks had a splash of color in them, and I couldn’t tell if it was rouge or if she was simply excited to see the baby again.

  “Hello, dear,” she said. “I stayed up late making these booties for Charity.”

  I looked at them—four or five adorable pairs of pink, pink-and-white, and variegated colors. “These are darling!”

  “Why, thank you, Merry.” She looked around, and I knew I had to invite her in. “Is the little sweetie up?”

  “Come with me.” I led her upstairs to the project room across from my parents’ bedroom. Typically it was Mom’s spot for sewing or repairing neglected antiques. “We fixed up a room for her—at least for now.”

  Mom was diapering the baby on a makeshift changing table, actually an antique cherry dresser. She’d made it comfortable for Charity with some waterproof pads and a soft, thick towel.

  “Aw, there’s a love,” Miss Spindler sputtered as we stood in the doorway.

  “Look what Miss Spindler made.” I showed Mom the booties.

  “Why, Ruby,” Mom said, turning toward Old Hawk Eyes, “what a thoughtful thing.”

  Miss Spindler bent over and kissed Charity’s head. “How’s every little thing with our dapple dumplin’ today?” Charity kicked her feet and tried to grab Miss Spindler’s long nose.

  “I think she recognizes her auntie Ruby,” I said, hoping to ease the awkward situation. It was clear how much the old lady adored the baby.

  Mom snapped the baby outfit and held Charity up, goo-gooing close to her face. “She’s really a very placid baby,” Mom mentioned. “Hardly fussed all night.”

  “Well, I declare,” Miss Spindler said. “She fits right in here, doesn’t she?”

  Mom handed the baby to our neighbor. “Here, she likes you, too, Ruby.” That brought a broad smile to the wrinkled face.

  I let the two of them chitchat alone. Quietly, I slipped out of the room and headed down the long upstairs hall to my room, where I grabbed my digital camera. As much as I liked shooting with film, I wanted to be sure to get a good photo, and babies were tricky. I spotted the roll of film with Lissa’s photos on it while loading some fresh batteries. Because of all the excitement, I’d forgotten my promise to call Lissa back. Well, not really forgotten—just couldn’t pull myself away from Charity and the remarkable way my parents were responding to her.

  Last night, Dad had gone to the attic and lugged down two matching pine cradles—one was mine, the other Faithie’s. “We’ll need one upstairs and one down,” he’d explained as Mom watched incredulously from the attic steps.

  “While you’re up there,” I’d said, “could you bring down some of my old baby dresses? Charity needs a dress to wear on Sunday.”

  Dad was more than willing to pile up a bunch of my baby clothes and carry them down. In fact, he was so taken with Charity, he was nearly late for work this morning. And for a summer Saturday, I was up earlier than usual, too. There was only one reason, of course.

  While Mom and Miss Spindler talked and cooed at the baby, I took unposed shots of the three of them and several close-ups of Charity. Miss Spindler made me promise to give her some copies when I got them printed.

  “I’d be happy to,” I told her. And it was true. With my parents in the picture, Miss Spindler no longer seemed like a threat.

  Later, while Mom and I were fixing lunch, I experienced a twinge of sadness for my brother, Skip, away at camp. He was missing out on the new addition to the Hanson household.

  “What do you think Skip would say about having Charity here?” I asked Mom.

  “Oh, you know Skip. He takes things in stride.”

  Mom was probably right. After all, he’d survived his breakup with Nikki Klein, one of Jonathan’s two older sisters, a few weeks ago. I didn’t feel too badly about it, though, probably because I didn’t think Nikki and Skip were right for each other. Besides, Skip had decided on a future in medicine, and he had years of schooling ahead of him.

  “Do you think Skip’ll miss us when he goes off to college?” I probed.

  Mom sighed, as though she wasn’t ready to think about losing her only son just yet. “Well, Skip has always been a very independent person, as you know.”

  Obnoxious too, I thought.

  Mom continued. “I think he will do just fine. Now, why don’t you run and check on Charity before we sit down for lunch?” I knew it was my cue to back off about Skip. Mom was super-sensitive about her kids. It had only been the day before yesterday that she and I had been able to talk openly about Faithie’s death. After nine years!

  I took her lead and kept quiet. Tiptoeing into the dining room, I peeked at our baby. She was snoozing peacefully in Faithie’s cradle, a heavy pine piece with a honey stain that looked antique—exactly the way Mom had requested it be made. Since ant
iques were one of her ongoing obsessions, the cradle was ideal.

  I touched it, rocking it gently as I looked into her sweet face. “Please don’t ever leave us,” I whispered. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  Hesitantly, I thought about tomorrow—July 31—the anniversary I’d been somewhat dreading. Would we take Charity to visit Faithie’s graveside? How would my twin sister really feel if she knew about Charity?

  “Merry?” Mom was calling.

  I hurried back into the kitchen, my mind beginning to fill with troubling thoughts. My worry escalated even more when Dad called midafternoon. Mom’s face turned ashen as she held the phone, listening.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  Her eyes grew wide, and she shushed me. “Where?” she was saying. “In Maryland?”

  I put my hand on my heart, hoping this wasn’t about finding Charity’s parents.

  Finally, Mom got off the phone. She hurried into the dining room, staring down at Charity in the cradle. “Oh, Merry,” she whispered, hugging me. “The police have located the blue pickup.”

  “Oh, please…no.” I could say no more. My hands gripped into fists, and I wanted to fly away with Charity. Far, far away, where no one could take her from us!

  Chapter

  14

  I felt mighty droopy as I sat out front on the porch waiting for Dad. Mom had taken Charity into town for her required visit to Social Services. Since Dad had arranged temporary foster care with us, I wasn’t worried about losing her to the system. It was that horrible APB and the police investigation that made me frantic.

  Evidently, the blue pickup had been deserted somewhere near Baltimore, Maryland. Mom had filled me in on everything Dad told her on the phone. The driver and young woman had left no trace as to their whereabouts, but they were definitely being hunted. The pickup had been registered but not insured. I shuddered to think of Charity having to grow up with irresponsible parents.