SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  Levi had been fond of Faithie, too. Not in the same way as he loved me, but he had loved her. The Zook kids were Faithie’s and my favorite playmates in a predominantly Amish area. Faithie and I loved spending time with our Plain friends—skating on the pond in winter, riding in the pony cart in the springtime, playing barefoot in summer…and then there was the hayloft. That wonderful, almost magical place high in their two-story bank barn. All this and much more, Faithie and I had shared with Levi and his brothers and sisters. We’d played nearly every day beyond the willow grove—on the Zook farm.

  I choked back the tears as Dad prayed that our hearts would be tender to the love each of us shared, neighbor and family member alike. “And may we always remember that our days on this earth are numbered,” he prayed. “That we ought to treasure every minute we have as a family until you call us home. Amen.”

  I wiped the tears from my eyes as we turned to head down the hill to the car. Dad was right. I knew in my heart that if I could do it all again—relive those seven short years with Faithie—I would be more careful to cherish every minute.

  Love never fails.

  When we arrived home, Rachel was waiting on the front porch. She looked pale, and as I got out of the car and ran toward her, I noticed her eyes were red and swollen.

  “Rachel, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Sarah’s baby.” She put her hands to her face, covering her eyes. “Sarah’s gone to the hospital.”

  “Why? What happened?” Fear gripped me.

  Rachel shook her head, unable to speak.

  Dad stopped to talk with her while Mom took Charity into the house for her nap. “Is your sister-in-law having premature labor?” he asked.

  Rachel shook her head. “It can’t be—it’s only her fifth month.”

  Dad’s eyes showed concern. “I’ll leave for the hospital right away.” He touched Rachel’s shoulder.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said as he hurried into the house.

  Love is patient.

  The wait was terribly long. Rachel stayed at our house until it was time for the afternoon milking. Before she left, I hugged her. “We’ll be praying,” I said. “And if we don’t hear something soon, I’ll ask Mom to page Dad.”

  She nodded. “Da Herr sei mit du. The Lord be with you.” Off she ran down the lane toward the shortcut to the farm, through the willows.

  “And with you, Rachel!” I called after my friend.

  Chapter

  18

  The phone did not ring until almost seven. When I picked it up, I detected the sadness in Dad’s voice. “Sarah lost her baby.”

  My heart sank. “I’ll run and tell Rachel. She’s waiting to know…her parents, too.”

  “Tell them Sarah’s resting now,” Dad said. “She’s being sedated.”

  I could not imagine what poor Sarah and Curly John were experiencing. They were young—newlyweds—barely two years older than Skip. And this was their first little one. Now Baby Zook was gone. Gone to heaven too soon.

  I ran upstairs and sat on the floor beside the cradle that had been mine. Sadly, I looked down at Charity, now sound asleep. “Nothing must ever happen to you,” I said out of sheer determination. “I won’t let it. I won’t! You’re ours forever.”

  Love always protects.

  Charity stirred sweetly in her sleep, unaware of the turmoil in my heart.

  On Monday morning, Mom and Dad went to town with Charity to do the paper work for temporary custody. I stayed home and took pictures outside. The gazebo was the setting this time. With the news of Sarah’s miscarriage fresh in my mind, I created several scenes using Faithie’s pine cradle. I didn’t mean it to be morbid, but maybe it was.

  Anyway, I had my own unique way of working through my sorrow over Sarah and Curly John’s loss. By combining the gazebo with the empty cradle, I was bringing three factors together: my own pain at losing Faithie, Sarah’s recent loss, and the discovery of Charity—the love I was clinging to. What great joy she’d brought to me! And now to my family.

  Mom had made things quite clear, however. By this time Friday, we were to make a final decision about Charity. Mom had said to pray about it. I had. There was nothing left to say. I wanted Charity—wanted her forever.

  As I ran around the gazebo, taking this shot and that from various angles, I remembered Dad’s words. True love is patient and slow to act or react.

  I must admit, I’d gotten caught up in the emotion of the moment, letting baby fever run away with me. But when it came right down to it—to the everyday, day-in-day-out schedule of having a baby to care for, well…I could see Mom’s point. I was not the one most involved. She was.

  Was I being selfish, wanting this baby?

  Love is not self-seeking.

  I stopped to adjust the aperture, the lens opening, for correct lighting. Then I heard someone walking toward me and turned to see who it was. “Rachel, hi!”

  “Whatcha doin’?” she asked.

  I knew she’d spotted the cradle. It was the focal point of the gazebo picture—how could she miss it?

  “Oh, just taking some pictures.”

  She was quiet for a moment, her eyes downcast. We sat on the gazebo steps while the cats came and rubbed up against our bare ankles.

  Carefully, I put my camera back into its case and snapped it shut. Looking up, I saw that Rachel’s eyes were bright with tears.

  “You’re crying!”

  She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m sad for Sarah. She’s brokenhearted, Merry. And there’s been some very bad news.”

  My throat turned to cotton. “What is it?”

  “The doctor says, like as not, Sarah will never be able to have children.” A sad little sigh burst from her lips.

  “Oh, Rachel…I’m so sorry.” I put my arm around her, sharing her pain. Her light brown hair was wrapped up in a thick bun at the back of her head and covered by the white netting she always wore. Her shoulders shook as she wept. I’d never seen her cry so hard. Not even at her grandfather’s funeral.

  We sat there together under the towering leafy maples, and I comforted Rachel as best I could. At last, she dried her eyes. “Ya know, you’re my best friend, Cousin Merry.”

  “I am?” I was startled by her words.

  Her eyes widened. “Ain’t I yours?”

  I’d never thought of Rachel that way—only Faithie. But now that she mentioned it, I guessed she was right.

  “Oh, Rachel…” I hugged her hard. “You’re the best friend I could ever have.”

  She smiled through her tears, standing up suddenly. “I hafta go help Mam out with choppin’ carrots and celery—we’re makin’ chow chow.”

  I sat there clinging to my cats as she dashed across the side yard and headed for SummerHill Lane. She’d called me her best friend. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rachel and I had shared everything. Always had. And now this—the loss of her brother’s baby.

  In spite of the sadness, I felt consoled and heartened. It was truly amazing—even without Faithie, I’d had a best friend all these years!

  Later, Shadrach and Meshach followed me as I went into the house to put away my camera equipment. I went back to the gazebo to retrieve the cradle. There on the wooden floor, I spotted the safety pin—the one that had pinned the note to Charity’s pink blanket. I stopped to pick it up, turning it over in my hand.

  A startling realization hit me. The note had pleaded for my help. Please take care of me and love me as your own. And Merry Hanson, the problem solver, had decided to do just that. That was me—Miss Fix-It.

  Dad had recognized the trait in me early on, and Skip constantly teased me about taking in strays. Cats, people…I’d even risked my life to save Lily White—a mouse catcher, of all things. And now, my latest attempt at saving the world was a two-month-old baby!

  Things were becoming clear, making sense. I understood why Mom and Dad had asked me to pray about the decision. They were absolutely right. A decision to make C
harity my baby sister was far too important to simply make out of emotion.

  I scooped up Lily White and held her close. “C’mon, you. We’re going for a walk. Just the two of us.” And down the lane I went.

  Nearly four days had passed since Mom and I sat together in the willow grove talking about life and love and God’s will. I wanted to go there now. To be alone. So much had happened since Thursday, and the events were beginning to overwhelm me.

  Lily White must’ve sensed my tension. She kept meowing and trying to wrestle away. “No, no. You sit tight, little girl,” I said, holding her gently yet firmly.

  She fought me, trying to break free.

  Frustrated, I shouted, “You’re staying right here!”

  The poor little fluff of white recoiled. Mew, she replied.

  “Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” I said, kneeling down on the worn, narrow path, stroking her head. “I do love you. Honest. I just want you to stay where it’s safe, where I can take care of you. Don’t you see?”

  When I took my hands away, Lily White ran off. I hurried after her, calling for her to return. “Come back, Lily! Please! I’m sorry.”

  But Lily had other ideas. She skittered through the willows and down toward the meadow where the cows were grazing. Had she seen a mouse?

  “Lily!” She ignored me, obviously wanting her freedom. I’d clung too tightly to her.

  Crouching on the soft ground under the biggest willow in the grove, I felt as though the world was sitting on my shoulders. The secret place was nearly enclosed with green branches and tendrils, forming a canopy over my head. “Come back, Lily,” I cried. “I love you too much to let you wander away. I want you with me.”

  When I stopped crying, I realized how selfish my words were. How selfish I was in other ways, too. I’d clung selfishly to Faithie’s memory, blocking out close friendships and letting the obsession with it come between Mom and me. And I’d thought she had a problem!

  Love keeps no record of wrongs.

  And there was Charity. I didn’t have to think twice to know the truth. I was being selfish about her, too.

  A young Amish couple had heard sorrowful words yesterday upon the loss of their first baby: no birth children for them—ever!

  What was it Rachel had said last week? That it would be a terrible heartache for an Amish wife to be without children.

  Love is not self-seeking.

  Me, me—that’s all I could think about these days. My sister, my baby…

  Leaping up, I parted some of the heavy branches, letting the hot sun beat down on my face. “Forgive me, Lord,” I said simply. “Help me put the pastor’s sermon into practice. Give me the kind of love that doesn’t cling for dear life, because love isn’t love till I give it away.”

  Though I was hot and beginning to perspire, the sun’s rays encompassed me. They were like the light of God’s love pouring into my soul. Shining the Father’s torch of truth.

  I let go of the branches and slipped into the shadowy coolness of the willow grove. A rustling came from behind, and startled, I turned to look.

  “Merry, don’t be frightened.”

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” I ran to her, careful not to awaken Charity, who was sleeping in her wicker basket. She smiled, glancing at the baby. “I thought it was time for our little one to be formally introduced to your secret place.”

  I nodded. “Doesn’t look like she cares too much about it right now.” I looked around, enjoying the moment and feeling freer than I had in years. “We have to talk,” I said. “With Dad.”

  Mom’s eyes grew serious. “Oh?”

  I breathed in a deep breath, my heart pounding. “It’s about keeping Charity.”

  Chapter

  19

  We didn’t stay long in the willow grove. The sparse clouds of morning had thickened and were beginning to grow dark. A clap of thunder crackled in our ears as we hurried in the back door.

  “We made it just in time,” Mom said, uncovering Charity, who was wide awake now and moving her little arms excitedly.

  “When will Dad be home?” I asked, gazing at the baby.

  “Probably late.”

  I was disappointed. “After supper?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Mom took Charity out of the basket and handed her to me. “Will you change her, please? I have some calls to make.”

  I wondered what Mom was up to but didn’t ask. She seemed rather preoccupied. Maybe she was thinking about what I’d said in the willows. I was tempted to tiptoe down the hall and eavesdrop. One brief snatch of conversation might give me a clue.

  Slowly, I inched toward the main staircase. The door to the study was partly open, and I stood there listening.

  “Before you come home,” Mom was saying, “can you touch base with your contacts at the Department of Social Services?”

  Silence on her end. Was she talking to Dad?

  Then—“I’m not sure. But check and see what must be done.” It sounded as though she was about to hang up, so I scooted away from the door and carried Charity upstairs.

  I wondered how Mom and Dad would feel about giving up Charity for Curly John and Sarah Zook. Of course, it was a bit premature to be thinking that way, especially since Sarah was still in the hospital and had no knowledge of our little Charity.

  Torn between wanting to keep Charity and wanting to help soothe the pain for Sarah and Curly John, I played with the darling baby who’d brought us so much delight—singing and saying the nursery rhymes Faithie and I had learned. I’d grown so attached to this baby. Just thinking about taking her to live with someone else made me half sick.

  And what about Mom? She loved Charity, too. How would she feel? And Dad? Anyone could see how charmed he was by the baby.

  I changed Charity’s diaper and carried her back downstairs. Mom was busily stirring something in the kitchen. She didn’t even glance up as I strolled into the family room with Charity. Sometimes Mom worked out her stress in her cooking. This afternoon was one of those times, I was sure. If I was correct, it was best to steer clear.

  I found the remote and scanned the TV channels while sitting in Dad’s easy chair. The news was on all the major networks. A ballet was on public television. I switched it back to the local news. One of the leading stories was about couples and infertility drugs. I hoped Sarah and Curly John weren’t watching. Then I remembered they didn’t believe in having a television or anything else electrical in their house—probably had it turned off in the hospital, too.

  I held Charity up in my arms, gazing into her eyes. “How would you like to grow up Amish? You’d never have to worry about eating junk food. Nope. You’d have fresh fruits and vegetables and lots of rich milk to drink.”

  She cooed a little.

  “I really wish your first mama and daddy had loved you more,” I surprised myself by saying. “But don’t worry. You have a heavenly Father who cared enough to send you here so we could find you a terrific home.”

  Mom peeked her head around the corner. “Is that you talking, Mer?”

  I smiled. “Charity and I are having a sisterly chat.”

  “Just checking,” she said and left.

  “Now, where were we?” I touched her soft cheek. “Oh yes. I think I might’ve already found some parents for you. They don’t know about it, though. When Dad comes home tonight, we’ll discuss it.”

  I stopped talking and listened to her sweet gurgling sounds.

  “Merry, if the doorbell rings, will you let Miss Spindler in?”

  Mom called from the kitchen.

  “Miss Spindler’s coming over?”

  “She wants to see the baby again,” she answered.

  “Okay.”

  Soon I heard Mom going upstairs. Had she called Old Hawk Eyes? I certainly hadn’t heard the phone ring.

  Feeling a bit gloomy, I thought back to the first night Charity and I had spent together. “You’re mighty little to have already experienced your first sleepover. And outside, too…” I
remembered Faithie’s insistence on sleeping outside with me in the gazebo so long ago.

  The doorbell rang, putting an end to my reverie. I peeked out through the curtains. It was Miss Spindler, all right. Dressed to the hilt.

  “Come in,” I said, opening the screen door. “Mom was expecting you.”

  “I’ve made some more outfits for Charity.” Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. She looked down at the baby in my arms as though she’d just seen an angel. “My, oh my, if she hasn’t grown in just two days.”

  I smiled, leading her into the family room, where she sat in the rocker nearest the window. I knew she was eager to hold the baby, so I relinquished Charity and went to get some iced tea for our guest. While I was in the kitchen, I poked my head into the stairwell leading upstairs. “Mom, Miss Spindler’s here.”

  “I’ll be right down,” she said. “Make her some iced tea, will you?”

  I congratulated myself on thinking ahead. Mom’s hostess mentality was beginning to rub off, it seemed.

  “Here we are,” I said to Miss Spindler, the way Mom always did.

  “Why, thank you, dear.” She placed the glass on the windowsill, gently rocking. “I heard tell that young Sarah and Curly John had an unfortunate event happen just yesterday.”

  “It’s very sad,” I replied, pulling up a chair.

  “Seems to me, they’d be needing some cheering up.”

  I nodded. “I’d like to visit Sarah when she gets home from the hospital.”

  “Well, I was thinking the very same thing. And while we’re at it”—and here she lowered her voice—“why don’t we take Charity along for an outing? You know, she absolutely loved riding in that little car seat I bought.”

  I wondered about Miss Spindler’s comment. Was she thinking of the baby—getting her out for a ride—or was she thinking of Sarah? Then I wondered right out loud. “What do you think about Sarah holding a baby—you know, Charity? Do you think it would comfort her, or would it make her feel worse?”

  A surprising thing happened as I looked into Ruby Spindler’s face. Her eyes filled with tears, and her face…her face began to shine with sheer joy. “Oh, Merry, you have no idea what holding this baby would do for the poor girl. Why, let me tell you something, dear.”