The Baby Bequest

“He has what’s called a port-wine stain on his forehead,” Miss Thurston corrected, “but his hair will cover it as he grows.” The lady sent a stern glance at the storekeeper’s wife and held the child closer.

Why didn’t she see that he’d been right? No one was going to let her keep this child. He realized he’d been mangling his hat brim and eased his grip.

“Unless the mark grows, too, and spreads,” Mrs. Ashford said, sounding dour.

“I don’t think that has anything to do with the baby’s health,” Noah commented. “A birthmark will not hurt the child.”

“Maybe that’s why somebody abandoned him at the teacher’s door,” Osbourne’s wife, Nan, spoke up. “Some people don’t want a child with that kind of mark.”

“Unfortunately you may be right,” Noah said. “But the real question is, does anyone here know of any woman in this area who was expecting a child in the past month?”

Kurt admired Noah’s ability to lead the gathering. Was it because he was the preacher, or had he done something in the past to gain this position? In Europe, leadership would have to do with family standing and connections, but here, that didn’t seem to matter. No town mayor or lord would make this decision. Noah Whitmore had thrown the question open for discussion—even women had spoken. This way of doing things felt odd but good to Kurt.

Noah’s wife, Sunny, rose. “I think I can say that no woman I know in this whole area was expecting a baby last month.”

“Perhaps someone from a boat left him at the schoolhouse,” Miss Thurston said, “because it is the only public building in Pepin, and a little away from town. They would have been less likely to be observed leaving the child.”

The congregation appeared to chew on this. Kurt stared at Miss Thurston, remembering her initial hesitation to pick up the child and her mention of a baby brother who’d died. She had known loss, too. Wealth and position could not prevent mortality and mourning. He forced his tight lungs to draw in air.

“Well, we will need a temporary home for the child—” Noah began.

“I will keep the child,” Miss Thurston said, and then walked toward the benches as if the matter were settled.

Her announcement met with an instant explosion of disapproval, just as Kurt had predicted.

One woman rose. “You can’t keep a baby. You’re not married.” Her tone was horrified.

Ellen halted. “I don’t know what that has to do with my ability to care for a child. I’ve cared for children in the past.”

“But you’re the schoolmarm!” one man exclaimed. General and loud agreement followed.

Kurt didn’t listen much to the crowd, but watched for the reactions of the young pastor. And Miss Thurston, who’d paused near the front row, half-turned toward the preacher, too.

The pastor’s wife silenced the uproar merely by rising. “There is an orphanage in Illinois run by a daughter of our friends, the Gabriels. We might send the child there.”

Murmurs of agreement began.

Miss Thurston swung to face everyone again. “I think that is a precipitate suggestion. What if the child’s mother changes her mind? I don’t think it’s uncommon for a woman to become low in spirits soon after a birth.”

A few women nodded in agreement.

“What if this woman suffered this low mood and was in unfortunate circumstances? After realizing what she’s done, she might return to reclaim the child. I think it’s best we wait upon events.”

A man in the rear snorted and muttered loud enough for all to hear, “It’s probably somebody’s unwanted, baseborn child.”

Noah stiffened. “I think we need to remember why we are gathered here.”

That shut everyone up, suiting Kurt’s idea of propriety. A child’s life was not a subject for derision.

Noah gazed out at the unhappy congregation. “Miss Thurston is right, I think. A child’s future depends on our making the right decision. This is something we need to pray about so we do what God wants. One thing is certain—no woman gives up her child lightly. Someone has trusted us with their own blood and we must not act rashly.”

His words eased some of the tension from the room, another sign of Noah’s leadership. Again, Kurt wondered about the preacher’s past and how he’d come to be so respected here. Kurt’s family had been respected in their village, but had lost that over his father’s many sins.

“But who’s going to take care of the foundling in the meantime?” Mrs. Ashford asked.

“I will,” Ellen declared. “He was left on my doorstep.”

The storekeeper’s wife started, “But you’ll be teaching—”

“I’m sure we can find someone who will care for the child while Miss Thurston carries out her teaching duties,” Noah said, taking charge of the room. “That’s something else we will pray about.”

Noah raised his hands and bowed his head and began praying, effectively ending the discussion. Kurt lowered his head, too, praying that Miss Thurston wouldn’t be hurt too badly when the child was taken from her. Because he was certain that that was exactly what was going to happen, one way or the other.

* * *

Ellen’s face ached with the smile she’d kept in place all morning during the church service. She wished everyone would just go home and leave her alone. But the congregation lingered around the schoolhouse, around her.

Everyone wanted a good look at William and an opportunity to express their opinion of wicked people who abandoned babies. They also lauded her desire to care for the child—even if she were a schoolmarm, a woman was a woman, after all. Most voiced sympathetic-sounding, nonetheless irritating comments about William’s birthmark. Noah and Sunny had helped her but underneath all the general sentiment still held that she shouldn’t, wouldn’t, be allowed to keep William. Ellen was nearing the end of her frayed rope.

Then Martin came to her rescue. “Cousin Ellen, you’re coming home with us for Sunday dinner as planned.” He smiled at everyone as he piloted her toward their wagon. When Martin helped her up onto the bench, she noted Mr. Lang and his family, who had ridden to church with the Stewards, sat in the wagon bed at the rear. This man had predicted how the community would react all too accurately. But he didn’t look triumphant in the slightest, and for that, she was grateful. He nodded to her and gave her a slight smile that seemed to have some message she couldn’t quite read.

As the wagon rocked along the track into the shelter of the forest, Ellen breathed out a long, pent-up sigh. She glanced at her cousin sitting beside her. “Ophelia...” She fell silent; she simply didn’t have the words to go on.

Ophelia leaned against Ellen’s shoulder as if in comfort. “I can’t believe this happened.”

Ellen rested her head against the top of Ophelia’s white bonnet, murmuring, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“The Whitmores are coming over after dinner so we can discuss this,” Martin said. “We need to decide what to do with this child.”

Ellen snapped up straight. “It has already been decided. William will stay with me.”

“You can’t mean you really want to keep this baby?” Ophelia said, sounding shocked. “I don’t know how I’d take care of our little one alone.”

Her cousin’s stunned tone wounded Ellen, stopping her from responding.

“Ja—yes, she does,” Mr. Lang said as the wagon navigated a deep rut. “I told her last night that they will not let her.”

Mr. Lang’s words wounded more than all the rest. He’d been there last night, he’d experienced discovering this child with her. Why wouldn’t he take her side in this matter?

She brushed the opposition aside. It didn’t matter why he wouldn’t support her—it didn’t matter why any of them wouldn’t support her. She wasn’t like other women. She had goals, and now she’d added one more. If she were a weak woman, she wouldn’t be here to begin with—she would be living at home under her sister-in-law’s snide thumb. But she had struck out to make a life of her own, and that was exactly what she planned to do.

Those who opposed her would not win. All she had to do was come up with a convincing argument to keep this child—and her job. And frankly, she reminded herself, Mr. Kurt Lang’s opinion in this matter—in all matters—was irrelevant to her.

* * *

Later, in the early dusk, Kurt walked into the Steward’s clearing for the second time that day. Ever since the Stewards had dropped them off after church, he’d been worrying—about William, about Gunther, about Miss Thurston.

“Kurt, what brings you here?” called Martin, who was hitching the pony to his two-wheeled cart.