The Nanny's Amish Family

by Patricia Johns

  “I don’t want to.”

  “What if...” Thomas rose to his feet and rubbed a hand over his rough chin. “What if you got your pajamas on, then you came back downstairs and I told you a story?”

  Rue eyed him uncertainly. “I want TV.”

  “But without a TV, a story might be nice,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you think? I know all sorts of good ones.”

  Mammi made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat, and Thomas realized he was likely digging himself into a hole with this little girl, but she couldn’t be blamed for not knowing their ways, or even for resenting them just a little bit. She’d lost her mother, after all. What was the harm in a story or two to put her to sleep on this first night in a strange home with no TV?

  “She must learn to obey,” Mammi said in German.

  “But first she must learn to like it here,” Thomas replied, then a smile tickled at his lips. “And we have no TV. That is a serious problem for an Englisher child.”

  Mammi wasn’t amused, but Thomas was the daet, so she held out her hand to Rue.

  “Come, Rue,” she said in English. “You’ll get your pajamas on, and then come back down to your daet. Okay?”

  Rue slid off her chair, casting a tiny little smile in Thomas’s direction before she took Mammi’s hand and followed her up the staircase.

  Noah stood at the sink washing the dishes, the water turning on for a moment as he rinsed a plate and put it in the dish rack.

  “Am I wrong?” Thomas asked.

  “What do I know?” Noah said with a shrug. “I’m not a daet.”

  And up until yesterday when he’d heard that his daughter was coming home to him, he hadn’t felt like one, either. But he’d have to catch up, and he’d have to teach Rue their ways. He was just grateful for the family surrounding him that would help him in this new role of father.

  “I should tell you, Noah. I talked to our mamm yesterday,” Thomas said, and his brother turned to look at him, his gaze suddenly guarded.

  “When?” Noah asked.

  “At the government office. She was the one who helped them find me.”

  Their mother, Rachel Wiebe, had looked so different dressed in a sleeveless Englisher dress and wearing a few pieces of jewelry. Her hair was dyed—the gray that had started to creep into it was now gone. She didn’t look like a mamm. She looked... English.

  “How is she?” Noah asked.

  “She’s healthy and happy.” He’d wanted to see her miserable—realizing her mistake. But that hadn’t been the case. “She wants to get to know Rue.”

  Noah sighed and turned back to the sink. Their mamm had left the community and gone English after their father’s death.

  “Rue is an Englisher child,” Thomas added. “And our mamm is her real Mammi, you know.”

  “Rue is your child,” Noah said curtly. “And if you want to raise her right, you’ll raise her Amish.”

  Raising Rue Amish meant keeping her from Englisher influences. Did that include her grandmother?

  “Obviously, I’ll raise her Amish,” Thomas said. “But Mamm also said she wanted to see you—”

  “No.”

  Thomas eyed his brother. This was an old argument. Mamm came back to visit once every so often, and she sent letters, but Noah remained obstinately reserved. And yet, she was their mamm. She’d been the one to tuck them in, give them hugs and teach them right from wrong. She was their first love—the beautiful mamm who sang the strange Englisher hymns when there was no one else around to hear. When it rained, Thomas could still hear his mamm’s soft singing. Rock of Ages, cleft for me... Let me hide myself in Thee...

  In English.

  “She made her choice,” Noah said, his voice thick. “She could have stayed for us!”

  Thomas didn’t answer that. He understood his brother’s anger, because he felt it, too. When he was fourteen and Noah was fifteen, she’d given them the choice to leave with her, or stay without her. What kind of choice was that? She’d been their mamm, and one day she’d told them that that she couldn’t continue this way, and their entire world had been thrown upside down. So Thomas could understand the anger in his daughter, because he carried around a fair amount of anger, too. He’d been trying to sort through it during his wild Rumspringa.

  There was movement at the top of the stairs, and Mammi and Rue came back down.

  Rue was dressed in a nightgown that showed a cartoon princess on the front, and it had little frilly ruffles around the arms. He glanced at his brother—their conversation would have to wait.

  “Tell our schoolteacher that she will need a proper nightgown, too,” Mammi said.

  “Very good,” Thomas said, smiling at Rue. “Now, I will sit in the rocking chair, and you will sit on my lap. I will tell you stories, and when your eyes get heavy, you must promise to let them close. Is that a deal?”

  “You want to trick me into sleeping,” Rue said.

  “Yes.” He met her young gaze. “That is exactly what I intend to do. With stories.”

  Rue regarded him for a moment, and she seemed to be deciding what she thought of him. Then she sighed.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “But I want stories.”

  Thomas smiled and scooped her up in his arms, then strode into the sitting room. Behind him, he could hear Mammi chiding Noah for having done most of the dishes.

  Thomas was a daet now. And he had story after story saved up inside him, all meant for his own children one day. These were the stories that formed Amish children—Bible stories, family tales, stories of warning about people they used to know who took a wrong turn and lived to regret it. And tonight, Rue would have her first story.

  Thomas settled himself into the rocking chair and Rue curled up her legs and leaned her head against his chest. She smelled of the soap Mammi had used to wash her face and hands, and he gingerly smoothed a hand over her flaxen hair.

  “Are we ready, then?” he asked.

  Rue nodded mutely.

  “Tonight, I will tell you a story about the very first man and woman to live in this world. It was a very, very long time ago, in the days of In the beginning. So long ago, that no one remembers just what this first man and woman looked like...”

  He would tell her the story of a snake in a garden, and a very tempting piece of fruit that had been forbidden to the inhabitants. That piece of fruit still hung before all the Amish community, just out of reach, just over the fence... And Thomas’s own mamm had chosen the fruit.

  * * *

  The next morning, Patience dried the last plate from the breakfast dishes and put it into the cupboard. Cheerful sunlight splashed through the kitchen window and over the freshly wiped counters. Outside, she could hear the robins’ songs, and she felt a certain excitement inside her that she hadn’t experienced in quite some time. It was more than having a job to look forward to, though. And teaching school was definitely something new... But there had been something about Thomas and little Rue that had piqued her interest.

  “A child needs a woman’s touch,” Hannah Kauffman said as she wiped the table. “You’re kind to help him.”

  “The poor thing,” Patience said. “This will be a hard adjustment for her.”

  “Hmm.” Hannah straightened. “And for him. Mary and Amos raised him after his daet died and his mamm left, so I heard all the stories of his struggles as he grew up. I mean, Rachel did come visit, and she sent him letters in between, but it’s not the same, is it? No one thought Thomas would come back after he went to live with his mamm. And when he did, we all knew there would be baggage. It wasn’t just a Rumspringa—it was a boy’s chance to spend time with the mamm who left him behind. Both of those boys were so heartbroken...”

  Patience folded the wet towel and hung it up. “He’s been through a lot.”

  “More than any of us know, I
’m sure,” Hannah replied, then she batted her hand through the air. “But you go on, now. I can handle the rest. Thomas will be waiting on you.”

  “Thank you, Hannah,” Patience replied. “I’ll make it up to you this evening.”

  It was a cool morning, and as Patience walked down the drive, she could feel fall coming in the air. A couple of leaves had started to turn—only one or two—but it was a hint at things to come.

  Trees lined the gravel drive, and their branches stretched overhead, leaves trembling in the morning breeze. Some magpies chattered from the top of one tree, and they were answered by a group of crows—some sort of bird standoff happening above her head. She waved at Samuel Kauffman as she walked past. He was bent over a shovel, harvesting the last of the potatoes from their garden just past the horse stable. There were three draft horses grazing in the pasture beyond, and the animals looked up at her in mild curiosity.

  Ruben had owned a property similar to this one, and there had been a time when she’d imagined what it would be like to be his wife, to be mistress of that home, to be the mamm calling those kinner down to breakfast. She still felt a pang of regret at all she’d given up in a life with Ruben, but she knew it had been the right choice. She wouldn’t be able to give him what he truly wanted, and even if he left his offer of marriage on the table after he knew that she couldn’t give him babies, she knew he’d be settling. It wasn’t the kind of marriage a woman dreamed of, where a man had to lower his hopes in order to be with her.

  In some ways, coming to a new community was a fresh start. She didn’t know these people, their histories or their families. But the farther one went from home, the more it all looked the same. Amish lives all revolved around the same ideals—marriage, children, farming... A plain life was not an easy life, nor was it excitingly different in another community. Her problems would not change, but at least here in Redemption, she’d have a meaningful job.

  When Patience approached the Lapp house, she could hear Rue’s crying a good way up the drive. And when she arrived at the door, she knocked twice before it was flung open by a frazzled-looking Thomas. His hair was tousled and from inside she could hear the renewed wails of his young daughter.

  “Patience!” he said, stepping back. “You’re here.”

  “I am.” She met his gaze questioningly.

  “Go!” He gestured inside. “Help me with this!”

  Patience swept past him, and she heard the door thunk shut behind her as she headed into the kitchen. The other men seemed to be out doing their chores, because it was only Mammi in the kitchen with Rue, and she was standing at the sink, completely ignoring the meltdown going on in the center of the kitchen floor. She looked up with a mild smile on her face.

  “Good morning, Patience,” she called, her voice hardly to be heard over the tantrum.

  Rue lay there, drumming her heels against the floor, howling her heart out. Patience looked down at her for a moment, then pulled up a chair and sat down on it right next to Rue.

  “What happened?” Patience asked.

  “We told her that she was getting new clothes,” Thomas replied, shrugging helplessly. “And then...this!”

  The child continued to wail and pushed herself away from the chair another couple of feet, but when she got no more attention than Patience’s watchful eye, her crying lowered in volume until she lay curled up in a ball, sobbing softly. It was then that Patience sat down on the floor next to her and held out her arms.

  “Come for a hug, Rue,” Patience said softly, and Rue crawled into her lap and leaned her tear-streaked face against Patience’s shoulder, then let out a long, shuddering sigh.

  “Now,” Patience said. “What is the problem, little one?”

  “I don’t want a new dress,” Rue said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want it.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “I don’t want it...”

  At this age, Rue wouldn’t even know why not, and it likely wouldn’t matter. What Rue didn’t want was this—a new home, a father she’d never known, a way of life utterly foreign to all the things that used to comfort her.

  “We aren’t getting a new dress today,” Patience said simply.

  Rue looked up, startled.

  “But Daddy said—”

  “We’re looking at fabric today. This is fabric—” She fingered Rue’s nightgown between her fingers. “It comes in huge rolls. You’ll see them.”

  “But no dress?” Rue asked.

  “No. We’re only getting fabric. I have to sew the dress myself. You can watch me. I’ll use a needle and thread. Have you ever seen that?”

  “No.” Rue shook her head.

  “It takes some time. But it’s fun. And you can see how it works. And you’ll be wearing your own clothes while I do it.”

  “Oh...” Rue wiped her nose across her hand. “I like my clothes.”

  “They are very nice,” Patience said. “Did your mamm buy them for you?”

  Would mentioning her mamm only make this worse?

  “Mommy got me this nightgown,” Rue said softly, holding it out to look at the picture on the front. “It’s a princess nightgown.”

  “Very pretty...”

  “And Mommy got me my unicorn shirt.” Rue was looking up earnestly into Patience’s face now, and she sensed that Rue desperately wanted someone to understand. “And Mommy got me my pink ruffle socks. And my purple shorts...”

  All the clothing that would be taken from her—every item that was most inappropriate for an Amish girl to wear. But it had meaning to Rue because it was connected to the mother she lost, and Patience could suddenly imagine the disapproving looks of every single Amish adult who had looked into her precious suitcase of memories.

  “I think I understand,” Patience said quietly. “Should I explain it to your daet?”

  Rue nodded quickly.

  “Rue wants to keep her clothes,” Patience said, looking up at Thomas.

  Thomas stood there for a moment, looming over them, and then he pulled up that kitchen chair next to where Patience sat on the floor with Rue on her lap, and he sat down in it.

  “Yah, I heard that,” he said somberly.

  “Her mother bought them, Thomas,” Patience said quietly, switching to German. “This is her last connection to the mother she’s lost, and I’m sure she knows that we’re planning on getting rid of every last stitch of her Englisher clothes.”

  “Yah,” he replied in German. “Of course!”

  “It will break her heart,” Patience said. “She isn’t ready for that.”

  “No, she’s not...” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m so eager to make her Amish that I forget she’s not.” Thomas looked up, his dark gaze meeting hers. “I will pray on it.”

  “And in the meantime, can I tell her she keeps the clothes?” Patience asked hopefully.

  “In the meantime, yes.”

  “Your daet understands,” Patience said, turning to Rue and switching back to English. “And you can keep your clothes. He just wants to give you more clothes.”

  “More?” she asked, and she looked up at her father with such hope in her eyes.

  “More,” he said solemnly. “Proper Amish dresses for my little Amish girl.”

  “Am I Amish, Daddy?” she asked.

  “Yah,” he said. “And I would like it if you called me Daet.”

  Rue frowned.

  “It means daddy in German,” Patience said.

  “I don’t like that...” Rue shook her head. “You talk funny.”

  “Okay,” Thomas answered almost too quickly, and Patience had to smother a smile. He was afraid of another meltdown, and right now, she couldn’t blame him.

  “You’re Daddy,” Rue said seriously, fixing Thomas with a no-nonsense look of her own. Thomas looked at his daughter for
a moment, then sighed.

  “For now,” he agreed. “I’ll be... Daddy.”

  It was a painful concession, and Patience knew it. Daddies were of the Englisher world, but an Amish father was a daet. Tiny children learned to form the word, and it was a tender name, one attached to deep love and emotion. Thomas didn’t want to be Daddy, and Patience understood all too well why he wouldn’t.

  Patience disentangled herself from the girl and boosted her to her feet. “Rue, have you had your breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you washed your face and your hands? Did you brush your teeth?”

  Mary Lapp dried her hands on a towel at the sink and cast Patience a grateful smile, then held out her hand.

  “Come, Rue,” Mary said. “Let’s get clean so you can see the big rolls of fabric.”

  It seemed to work, because Rue agreed to trot upstairs with the older woman. Thomas stood up, then held his hand out to Patience to help her to her feet. Patience took his hand, and his grip was warm and solid, calloused from the hard work he did every day. He was strong, and he pulled her easily to her feet.

  “You’re good with her,” Thomas said, releasing her hand.

  “I don’t know why,” Patience said, stepping back. “I don’t know anything about Englisher children.”

  Thomas smiled sadly. “Me neither.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Patience said.

  “Gott teaches patience with children. Isn’t that what they say?”

  “It is.” She smiled. “And I’m about to have a whole schoolhouse full of them, so maybe you should feel grateful for just one.”

  Thomas cracked a smile then, and he laughed softly. “Maybe I should.” He jutted his chin toward the door. “I’m going to go hitch up the buggy.”

  Patience watched as he headed out the side door, and she put a hand over her pattering heart. She wasn’t blind to his broad shoulders and warm smile—it would be easier if she were, because it wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry... She did. But she was going to be a disappointment to whoever tried to court her.

  Patience was a teacher and a helpful neighbor. Nothing else. She’d best remember it. Strong hands and broad shoulders didn’t change that she wasn’t the wife for Thomas.