Minding The Amish Baby

Tessa’s mother clucked as her daughter accepted the mail. “She’d forget her own head sometimes,” Waneta commented. “What if one of those had been an urgent message from home, Tessa? It’s a gut thing we have Turner nearby to look after you.”

Turner noticed Tessa’s olive complexion breaking out in a rosy hue. As she stood next to her father, it was plain to see she’d inherited her prominent cheekbones and long, elegant nose from his side of the family. Turner bristled when his sister-in-law Rhoda once made the superficial remark that she wasn’t sure if she thought Tessa was the most striking woman in Willow Creek or just plain homely.

But observing Tessa and her father now, Turner understood what Rhoda meant: one couldn’t help but notice their unusual features, which differed drastically from those of most of the Amish leit in their district. For his part, Turner found their uniqueness becoming, and it was enhanced when father and daughter stood side by side. For a moment, he was distracted by how winsome she appeared. I shouldn’t be entertaining such a thought—Tessa’s closer to my little sister’s age than to mine.

“Denki for bringing these to me,” Tessa said sheepishly.

“It’s not a problem. I forgot to collect my own mail until today, too.”

“All the same, you will keep an eye on her, won’t you?” Waneta persisted, as if talking about a kind.“Especially now that she’s living alone, without Katie. We don’t want her getting into any kind of trouble.”

Tessa’s dark, deep-set eyes flashed with apparent anger before she averted her gaze. Clearly, she was as uncomfortable with this conversation as Turner was. One of the reasons he didn’t mind having renters was the Fisher girls mostly kept to themselves—at least, they did after he declined several of their invitations to supper when they first moved in. He valued his privacy and didn’t relish the idea of increasing his interactions with Tessa beyond the brief greetings they exchanged whenever their paths crossed.

“Tessa knows where to find me if she needs assistance,” he responded vaguely. Then he excused himself and hurried along the narrow lane leading up the hill to the larger house where he lived by himself.

As he walked, he marveled over the irony of Tessa’s mother asking him to keep an eye out for her daughter. If only Waneta knew Turner hadn’t been able to keep his own sister, Jacqueline, away from a world of trouble, she wouldn’t entrust Tessa to his watch.

Not that Tessa needed monitoring anyway. During the two years Tessa and Katie lived in his family’s daadi haus, the sisters always paid their rent on time and they kept the house and yard tidy. Admittedly, they often had visitors, including church members, their parents and female friends for sister days. Turner noticed Mason Yoder used to frequent the daadi haus, too, but like any suitor who called on the Fisher girls, he only stayed long enough to pick Katie up and drop her off. Aside from when they hosted a few raucous volleyball games in their yard with other single youth from church, the sisters were courteous, sensible tenants.

Granted, Turner had conversed more often with Katie than with Tessa. The younger sister’s effervescent personality frequently made him feel bumbling and dull by contrast. Rather than grow tongue-tied in Tessa’s presence, he preferred to interact with Katie regarding any issues that had arisen with the daadi haus. Now he wondered if Waneta’s comments indicated Tessa was a little too high-spirited for her own good. Maybe there was a reason unbeknownst to him behind the mother’s request. He understood how family members sometimes protected each other’s reputations; that’s exactly what he was doing for Jacqueline.

“It was difficult enough raising my own siblings. I don’t need to look after a fully grown tenant,” Turner grumbled aloud as he entered his empty house.

He tossed a couple of logs into the wood stove and then washed his hands before preparing a plate of scrambled eggs for supper. He thanked the Lord for his food, adding, Please keep Jacqueline safe from harm and bring her home soon.

Before opening his eyes, Turner rubbed his thumb and forefinger back and forth across his brows. It seemed he’d had the same unrelenting tension headache for fourteen years. It started the day his parents were killed by an automobile when he was eighteen and he was left to raise Mark, Patrick and Jacqueline, who was a toddler at the time. If his aunt Louisa, then a young widow, hadn’t been living in the daadihaus that once belonged to his grandparents, Turner never would have made it through those early years. She helped manage the children, especially Jacqueline, and he supported the family financially by taking over his father’s buggy shop. But the year Jacqueline turned ten Louisa married a mason from out of state and moved to Ohio.

With the grace of God, Turner managed to raise his brothers according to their Amish faith and traditions. But bringing up a girl—especially one who was entering her teens—was a challenge exceeding Turner’s best efforts. It wasn’t that Jacqueline was necessarily unruly; it was more that Turner suddenly was at a loss for how to communicate effectively with her. Having completed her schooling at fourteen, she was no longer considered a child, but neither was she an adult. To Turner it seemed she wanted all the privileges of adulthood without any of the responsibilities, and the brother and sister frequently locked horns. When Jacqueline turned fifteen, she moved to Louisa’s house in Ohio. By sixteen, her rumspringa began, and she suddenly left Louisa’s to live among the Englisch. Much to Turner’s consternation, it had been nearly eight or nine months since she’d contacted their family.

Raising his head, Turner released a heavy sigh. Try as he did to cast his burdens upon the Lord, lately he felt more overwhelmed than usual. He supposed this was because after his youngest brother, Patrick, married Rhoda and moved out of the house in November, Turner didn’t have anyone to distract him from his thoughts on the weekends, when he tended to worry more about Jacqueline’s welfare and sometimes took trips to search for her. It was on Saturday and Sunday evenings when he most wished for the loving support and companionship of a wife, but marriage wasn’t an option that seemed probable for him.

As a younger man, Turner’s time and energy were wholly consumed by raising and providing for his siblings. He’d expected he’d have more flexibility once they entered their teens, but in many ways Jacqueline’s disappearance limited him more now than caring for her as a child had done. How could he court anyone when his weekends were spent searching for his sister? Furthermore, he couldn’t imagine sharing the secret of Jacqueline’s circumstances with anyone outside the family. Although Jacqueline hadn’t been baptized yet so she wasn’t in the bann—or shunned—it was still considered disgraceful for her to have run away to the Englisch world.

As for marrying in the future, Turner felt he couldn’t risk starting a family of his own, for fear his wife would bear daughters. What if he failed to raise them to stay true to their Amish faith and traditions as miserably as he’d apparently failed to raise his sister? He couldn’t bear that kind of heartache again, nor could he allow his wife to suffer through it, either. No, despite his desire to marry, Turner figured the Lord must have willed for him to remain a lifelong bachelor.

Exhaling slowly, he reminded himself the next day was Monday and he’d be back in his shop with his brothers working at his side. Repairing and modifying buggies, crafting wheels and organizing inventory filled Turner with satisfaction. Unlike in the situation with his sister, there was almost no problem he couldn’t figure out and fix in his workshop.

He lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth, but they’d already gone cold. What he wouldn’t do for a home-cooked meal—the kind his aunt used to make or his mother before that. He’d received many Sunday supper invitations, but for the past year he’d turned them down, anxious his hosts might question him about his sister. The last anyone in Willow Creek knew, Jacqueline was at Louisa’s in Ohio, and he preferred to allow them to think that was still the case. After living among the Englisch for over a year, she’d have enough explaining to do and attitudes to overcome when—or if—she returned to their community. She didn’t need rumors to begin before she’d even arrived.

Unfortunately, his isolation also meant Turner rarely enjoyed a hearty meal, unless one of his sisters-in-law made it for him. They didn’t know about Jacqueline’s disappearance, either, despite their expressed curiosity about her whereabouts. The three brothers rarely discussed Jacqueline’s absence, even with each other, but Turner knew Mark and Patrick felt as concerned about their little sister as he did and they were equally committed to guarding her against gossip, even if their wives’ questions—especially Rhoda’s—were well intentioned.

As he prepared for bed that night, Turner again reflected on his brief encounter with Tessa’s parents. If he’d been as protective as they were, might Jacqueline still be part of their family and community? Or had he been too strict? Was that what caused her to leave? There hadn’t been any significant conflict between them when she’d gone to live with Louisa. In fact, all three of them had agreed it would be beneficial to have a female influence guiding Jacqueline as she entered womanhood. Turner certainly didn’t blame Louisa for his sister’s running away, but in retrospect, he regretted allowing Jacqueline to leave Willow Creek in the first place. What if by letting her go he’d given his sister the idea she wasn’t dearly wanted, an integral member of their family? Turner shuddered. Once again, he asked the Lord to keep her safe and warm, to guard her against sinful temptation and to bring her home soon.

The pain that had been plaguing Turner all day moved from his forehead down the side of his jaw and into his neck. As his head sunk into the pillow, he decided no amount of distress was worth such physical discomfort. He had to stop worrying, keep praying and start working harder at finding his sister. Meanwhile, he wasn’t going to be his tenant’s keeper, no matter how insistent her mother was.

When the new day dawned, Tessa practically leaped out of bed. She loved Monday mornings, when she returned to her job at Schrock’s. Initially, because her parents sheltered her so closely, she had little experience interacting with the Englisch, and she barely spoke a word to the tourists. But after two years as a clerk, she’d grown accustomed to the Englischers’ways and she readily struck up conversations as she assisted them with their purchases. Although she missed her close friend, Anna Chupp, who quit clerking when she got married, Tessa enjoyed engaging with the Schrock family and other Amish leit who consigned their goods in the shop.

“Guder mariye,” she greeted Joseph when she entered through the back door.

“Guder mariye, Tessa,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Before you go into the gallery, I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Of course. What can I do to help?”

Joseph smiled wanly. “Your willingness to be of assistance makes it very difficult for me to tell you this, Tessa. But you know our holiday sales weren’t what I hoped they’d be this year. Now that Grischtdaag has passed and Englisch schools are back in session, there will be fewer tourists passing through Willow Creek until the weather warms. I’m afraid I temporarily have to reduce your hours.”

Tessa’s stomach dropped. “By how much?”

“I can only schedule you to clerk on Saturdays,” Joseph confessed, shaking his head. “If I had my druthers, I’d keep you on full time and release one of the other employees, but of course I can’t do that.”

No, because that would mean releasing Melinda Schrock, the clerk who recently wed Joseph’s nephew, Jesse. Tessa understood family came first.

“I see,” she said plaintively.

“It’s only for a season. When spring rolls around, I’ll have you back to full time again.”

There was only one problem with Joseph’s plan: without a steady income, Tessa wouldn’t be able to pay her rent. She’d have to move back home before spring ever “rolled around.” And once she did that, there’d be no escaping her mother’s matchmaking attempts—not unless she got married, anyway.

Some escape that would be, she thought later as she fidgeted in bed long past midnight, mentally calculating her savings and racking her brain for another temporary employment opportunity, some job she could give up at a moment’s notice in order to return to the shop. In the end, the only solution she could devise was asking Turner if she could postpone making her rent payments until her work schedule picked up again—something she was hesitant to do. Turner had already been more than generous in allowing her and her sister to live there, renting the daadi haus at a fraction of what he could have required. He even reduced Tessa’s rent when Katie moved out. Although she’d be asking for only an extension, not a reduction, of her payments, she didn’t want to take advantage of his benevolence. Nor did she want him to think she was irresponsible; her mother’s recent comments to him on that subject had been humiliating enough.

More than that, Tessa was reluctant to speak with Turner because she harbored a sense of self-consciousness in his presence. When she and Katie moved in, Tessa had developed a full-fledged crush on Turner, who was sinewy and tall and whose tempestuous blue eyes and reticent nature gave him an air of mystery. That he’d been so well respected in the community and so charitable about their rent made her like him all the more. As a result, she tended to become highly animated whenever she spoke to him, sometimes making frivolous remarks because she was nervous in his presence. But he never accepted the sisters’ invitations to share Sunday supper with them and their friends at the daadi haus,and Tessa suspected he was put off by her obvious interest in him. Eventually, she conceded Turner was too unsociable for her liking anyway and she gave up trying to get to know him better.

Indeed, over time she observed how often he wore a scowl across his face. While Turner wasn’t quite ten years older than Tessa, she thought his countenance aged him. It apparently kept people at a distance, too, including his own sister. It was rumored Jacqueline had gone to live with her aunt the year Katie and Tessa moved into the daadi haus, and the girl hadn’t paid her brother a visit since then. Tessa wasn’t altogether surprised. Although Mark and Patrick King were generally congenial, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Turner smile. She imagined his somber demeanor would have felt oppressive to his teenage sister, especially since Jacqueline was said to be naturally humorous and outgoing.

In any case, unless the Lord directed her toward another solution, Tessa resigned herself to asking Turner for an extension on her rental payments. Scooting out of bed, she put a prayer kapp on over her loosely gathered hair and prayed a simple prayer: Lord, I don’t know what else to do and I really want to stay in Willow Creek. Please reveal Your will for me in this situation. Amen.

While still on her knees she heard the sound of tires crunching up the snowy lane. Curious, she rose, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders as she made her way toward the kitchen, where she turned on the gas lamp. Meanwhile, a succession of honks came from outside. Tessa couldn’t imagine who would be so rude, but when she opened the door, she spotted a car reversing its direction and heading back toward the main road. She figured it must have been desperate Englischers who were lost and needed help finding their way. But if that was the case, why had the driver honked as if deliberately trying to wake the household, and then left as soon as Tessa appeared, without waiting to receive directions first?

As she was about to close the door, something at her feet caught her eye. She peered through the near dark. It was a basket of laundry, of all things! Tessa was aware Turner paid an Amish widow, Barbara Verkler, to do his laundry for him, but she was perplexed by the absurd manner and timing of its delivery. She lifted the cumbersome basket, brought it indoors and was about to put out the lamp when something inside the basket moved beneath the light cloth draped across the top. A mouse? She didn’t need another one of those getting indoors. Tessa wrinkled her nose and gingerly lifted the fabric.

There, bedded snugly on a pillow of clothing and diapers, was a chubby, pink-cheeked, toothless and smiling baby that appeared to be about three months old. The infant kicked her feet and waved her arms, as if to say “Surprise!” But Tessa was beyond surprised; she was so stunned she staggered backward. Was this a joke? The baby flailed her limbs harder now and her smile faded as she began to fuss. Tessa realized the child wanted to be held, and as she lifted the baby from the basket, an envelope slid from the blanket onto the floor.

Sensing it would provide information about whatever prank someone was playing on her—she didn’t think it was a bit funny—Tessa bounced the baby in one arm and opened the envelope with her other hand. The note said:

Dear Turner,

I’m sorry to leave Mercy with you in this manner, but I know I can count on you to take good care of her for a few weeks until I’ve had time to decide what to do next. Please, I’m begging you, don’t tell anyone about this—not even Mark or Patrick, if you can help it.

Your Lynne

Tessa couldn’t believe what she was reading. This baby was intended for Turner’s doorstep, not hers; the driver must have seen the address on the mailbox and assumed Turner lived in the daadi haus. So, who was Lynne? Tessa always assumed there was more to her serious, enigmatic landlord than what met the surface, but she never imagined he was guarding a secret like this. Before she had an instant to contemplate what to do next, someone pounded on the door. Had the driver realized his mistake and returned for the child?

“Tessa!” Turner shouted urgently, as concerned for her safety as he was annoyed about the disruption to his sleep. “It’s me, Turner. Are you all right?”

When the door opened, Tessa was pressing a finger to her lips. “Shh. You’ll upset the bobbel,” she chastised, gesturing with her chin toward the baby she cradled in her other arm, its face obscured by Tessa’s posture.

Taken aback, Turner lowered his voice and uttered, “A bobbel? What—”

“Kumme inside,” Tessa directed. “There’s something you need to read.”