The Haven (6 page)

“Now,” Amos said, trying to hold back from obvious scorning of such a ridiculous theory, “why would a soul bother with that if he were in the presence of the almighty Lord?” The doctor had no answer for him.

Amos had no doubt that Menno, enjoying heaven, was untroubled by the worries of this world. His son was wholly restored, from imperfect to perfect, and he was in the company of his mother and others who went before him. Menno knew the end of the story, and it was good. “In your presence is fullness of joy,” wrote the psalmist.

But Amos couldn’t shake these dreams. It felt as if maybe God was trying to remind him of something he had forgotten, or misplaced, or more likely, to nudge him to pay attention. He prayed about them, asking God to reveal the meaning of the dreams to him, the way he had to Joseph in Egypt. Once, he had even gone through Menno’s belongings to see if there might be a clue. Nothing, other than an overdue library book. And it was a book of Charlie Brown and Snoopy cartoons! What unfinished business could there have been of a nineteen-year-old whose mind was that of an eight-year-old boy? He just couldn’t figure it out.

It was Friday. It had rained all night, a hard, driving, drenching downpour. As M.K. toyed with her scrambled eggs, she could feel the edge of danger mounting within her. She knew that today would be the day.

“Will you listen to me while I’m talking to you?” Fern said to her.

“Ah . . . what?”

“When I’m talking to you, I want you to listen. You sit there like you’ve got cotton stuffed in your ears.”

Fern always had a thing about M.K. not listening. She scrunched around in her seat, pretending to listen to her, but her mind was a million miles away, working out a plan.

“You’d better be home right after school today,” Fern said. “No dillydallying.”

M.K. lifted her chin. “I don’t dilly and I don’t dally.”

After breakfast, M.K. and Sadie worked in silence as they cleaned up dishes. Finally, she tapped Sadie’s shoulder. “Are you going to stay mad at me forever?”

With a sigh, Sadie turned from the sink. M.K. tried to make her face look as contrite as possible. “I’m not angry, M.K., I just don’t think you realize the kind of trouble you stirred up when you told people I brought back a baby from Ohio. It’s just . . .” But once again, she fell silent.

When Sadie wouldn’t talk, M.K. knew it was best to just try to change the subject. “If you’re not angry, then let’s go find out who might be missing a baby.”

Sadie turned to face her.

“I’ve been doing some thinking by using my crackerjack detective skills. I know the baby was wearing a Onesie—something that any baby might wear. No clue in that. No clue with the brand of diapers. Just regular old Pampers. But the basket the baby was left in . . . I think that basket might hold a clue.”

“How’s that?”

“I was examining it earlier. It’s handmade. And it’s pretty new. There’s a tag on the bottom. I’m thinking we should take it to a basket shop and see if they might know who made it, or who it was sold to.”

Now Sadie looked at her with interest. “You might be on to something, M.K.”

M.K. nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s called connecting the dots. I’m particularly good at it.”

Then Sadie’s face clouded over. “Maybe . . . we don’t want to know.”

“What do you mean? Dad said that the baby should be with his mother.”

“What kind of mother would abandon a baby? Maybe the baby is better off with us.”

M.K. wrinkled her forehead. “Sadie, maybe you shouldn’t be getting too attached to that baby.”

“I can’t help it. There’s something about him. I just feel he is meant for me. For us. I can’t explain it. It’s like a deep-down knowing. This baby is for us.”

M.K. shrugged her small shoulders. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Dad’s right. But I’m going to take a trip to that basketmaker as soon as I can slip out this afternoon without Fern catching me. Are you coming with me?”

Sadie hesitated. She looked at the sleeping baby. “We’ll go. But I’m driving.” She gave M.K. a look as if she was bracing herself for a challenge.

Would M.K. dare to miss a ride with Sadie as pilot? It could be more exciting than sledding down Flying Saucer Hill on an icy day.

A
t five foot three inches, Sadie had to sit on a telephone book to see over the dashboard of the buggy. Her buggy driving skills were not exactly her strongest suit. She had always avoided driving the buggy. One sibling or another usually wanted to be in the driver’s seat and she happily acquiesced. But last night Fern had reminded her that she was nearly a grown woman and Sadie hadn’t stopped thinking about that comment. If she was going to start her life as an adult, she was going to have to be brave.

Then she couldn’t find M.K. Nothing unusual there; M.K. never came when she was called. M.K. said it was because her mind was always on other things. Sadie finally found her up in the hayloft, reading.

“Let’s go,” Sadie called up to her. “The baby is asleep on Fern’s bed and she has a long list of things she wants me to get at the store.” She held up the baby’s basket. “A golden opportunity!”

M.K. flew down the hayloft ladder and beat Sadie to the buggy, hopping in on the passenger side.

Sadie banged her door shut, and the horse startled and reared a few feet. Sadie screamed and dropped the reins. Her high-pitched scream made the horse startle even more, and then, the mare bolted. The buggy shot forward on the curving front drive, then veered straight off the drive. M.K. was holding on to the door handle with both hands. They were gunning over the grass, shade trees were looming by, fences flickered past, the entire world was a blur. Chickens scattered, feathers flying, as they saw what was headed in their direction. Sadie was pinned against the seat and M.K. seemed to somersault on the front seat.

Think, Sadie, think. You’re a grown woman now. Think!

Sadie grabbed the loose reins and yanked as hard as she could. They blasted between two trees, and right over Fern’s newly planted flower bed. They sailed over neat rows of impatiens—red, pink, then white—but the front wheels of the buggy dug into the soft flower bed and caused the horse to slow from a canter to a trot, a trot to a walk, and finally, to a stop. Sadie collected her wits, at least those that hadn’t been shaken out of her, and turned to check on M.K. Her little sister had both feet braced against the dashboard of the buggy, and her eyes were really big. She never saw M.K. scared, except maybe when Sadie was driving.

M.K. took a few deep, gulpy breaths. “Cayenne? Why in the world did you harness up Cayenne? She’s barely buggy broke. She’s as skittish a filly as they come.”

Sadie wiped perspiration from her forehead. “She was the only horse in the barn.”

M.K. peeled out the door on her side, ending up in a pile on the grass. “I hate to say it, Sadie, but being in a buggy with you at the helm could be hazardous to a person’s health.” She spit a feather out of her mouth. “You kill more chickens driving the buggy than the Fishers on butchering day.” She brushed herself off and checked for damages. “Either I drive or I’m staying home.”

Ten minutes later, Mary Kate steered Cayenne into the Bent N’ Dent, a small Amish corner store without any signage out front. Sadie went into the store to get the items on Fern’s list and told M.K. to wait in the buggy. Waiting was never a strength for Mary Kate, and she soon grew bored with watching the horse’s tail swat flies.

Another buggy pulled into the Bent N’ Dent and she poked her head out of the window to see who it was. She scowled when she saw Jimmy Fisher, her arch nemesis, jump from his buggy. They’d had a running feud since the first day she started school. It was set aside briefly after Menno died, but soon resumed again. It was unfortunate, M.K. always thought, that Jimmy happened to be blessed with good looks and a charming personality, because the spoiled youngest son of Edith Fisher was usually up to mischief. He was the sort of boy who couldn’t settle until he’d jerked a girl’s bandanna off her head or tripped someone walking down the aisle at church. And he was the only boy Mary Kate knew who smoked on a regular basis: cigars, cigarettes, pipes, or corn silk. He was a scoundrel of the worst kind.

Under ordinary circumstances she wouldn’t pay any mind to Jimmy Fisher. But as she watched him stride toward the store, she realized he had grown tall as a stork, seemingly overnight. It must have been coming on him in stages, but she hadn’t noticed until today, and she couldn’t believe it. Mostly, she saw him from afar, and he was always striding in the other direction.

Jimmy Fisher had begun to leave the skinny boy behind and was cutting the fine figure of a lanky man. His knees were working through his britches, and his wrists had grown out of his sleeves. She noticed how fuzzy sideburns were beginning to grow down the sides of his face. He would turn fifteen this summer.

With a smug look on his handsome and horrible face, Jimmy saw her and sauntered over to her buggy.

“Well, if it isn’t Mary Kate Lapp,” he said, placing his hands on the open window. “I see you’re taking your old nag out for an afternoon stroll. Hope she can get you home by supper.”

Blond though he was, you could see a whisper of whisker under his nose. His neck was filling out, and she thought he had a cold he couldn’t shake off before she realized his voice was changing. She looked down, and his boots were like boats.

It was amazing. She couldn’t get her mind around it. One day Jimmy Fisher was a bratty little boy, and the next he was a bratty young man.

“My filly could beat your bag-of-bones gelding any day of the week,” she said, lifting her nose in the air.

He leaned closer to the buggy. “So I hear there’s a little scandal happening out at Windmill Farm.”

She ignored him.

“A little ten-pound, bald-headed, diaper-bottomed scandal.”

She continued to ignore him.

“Funny how life goes, isn’t it? Who would have ever thought sweet little Sadie would have a race with the stork.” He tsked-tsked, shaking his head, as if he were scolding a small child for dripping an ice-cream cone.

Now that really got M.K.’s goat. A person could only take so much, especially from the likes of Jimmy Fisher.

Mary Kate pointed a finger at his chest. “You. Me. Your worthless gelding. My sleek filly. From here to Blue Lake Pond and back again.” She glanced at the store. She needed to get back in time before Sadie came out.

Jimmy perked up. “Now?”

“Now.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Unless, of course, you need some practice.”

“Me and my gelding, we don’t need any practice,” he shot back. “What’s at stake?”

“When I win, you will keep your mouth shut about anything that has to do with the Lapp family.”

“And when I win?”

M.K. narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t thought this through. Then a brilliant thought bubbled to the front and the corners of her mouth curled up in a devilish grin. “I won’t tell anyone that you were the one who let Jake Hostetler’s bull out.”

Jimmy’s mouth opened wide in outrage. Clapped shut. “I never did!”

“That’s a big lie, Jimmy Fisher, and it’ll only get bigger.”

The bull breakout had been the talk of the town for a week. Jake Hostetler’s bull had broken through two neighbors’ fences to get to the Masts’ dairy farm. It had taken eight men over two hours to get all of the Masts’ cows gathered and contained and Jake’s bull back home. The Masts were not entirely unhappy about the outcome as they had a prize sire visit their farm without the usual stud fees, but Jake Hostetler was furious. “The Masts sure would like to know who got their cows all stirred up and crazy with desire.” She lifted her voice and carefully enunciated the word
desire
, just to rub it in.

Jimmy’s eyes shifted to shifty. She was getting nearer the truth, never a short trip.

“On. The.
Sabbath.
”

Jimmy’s ears burned like fire, and his broad shoulders slumped. So she was right! She wasn’t entirely sure it was Jimmy who had started the mischief, but she had a strong suspicion. She wondered if the pressures of life had unhinged his mind. Even at the best of times, his mind hung by a single, rusty hinge.

He glared at her. “Down to Blue Lake Pond and back again.”

She gave a short jerk of her head.

Jimmy ran back to his buggy and hopped in. They lined up the horses, side by side, at the edge of the Bent N’ Dent parking lot. “Ready?” he said, watching M.K. from the corner of his eye. She was doing the same.

The horses quickly surmised that something was up. Their ears, cocked forward, were sharpened to a point. They were retired racehorses and knew the drill. Cayenne pawed at the ground with her right front hoof.

M.K. made sure she had the reins tightly held. She looked for traffic and saw no car in sight, either direction. “Go!” she shouted, and her mare hurtled into action. Jimmy slapped his reins on his gelding’s rump and his buggy lunged forward.

The race was on and they were off.

Sadie walked out of the store just in time to see the backs of two buggies kick up dust as they thundered down the road. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Through the window, as she had paid for her groceries, she had seen Jimmy Fisher buzzing around M.K. She sighed and reviewed her options. This might be a blessing in disguise. She wanted to go do a little sleuthing that didn’t involve her little sister’s nose for news. She put her groceries on a bench, told the clerk that she’d be back soon, and hurried down the road. She cut through one field and came out on a seldom-traveled lane that led to a run-down old farm. At least, it looked run-down to someone from the Old Order Amish, who took pride in the upkeep of their farms even though they weren’t supposed to be prideful. This farm belonged to an elderly Swartzentruber man. He lived there with his granddaughter, Annie.

As Sadie approached the house, she saw it looked even worse than a year ago, the last time she had been here to visit Annie. An old house without a speck of paint stood set back from the dirt lane. A few outbuildings had caved in, and the privy stood at an angle. A handful of scrawny chickens pecked dirt. The big shade tree in front of the house had just leafed out and made shadowy patterns. The yard wasn’t mowed. Even in full daylight, the place had an eerie feel to it, a little like a graveyard when you’re all alone, and you could almost feel ghosts lurking about, even though Sadie didn’t believe in ghosts.

A skinny, pathetic-looking yellow dog let out a halfhearted “woof!” as Sadie walked along. The dog cocked its head, then came forward cautiously to sniff her. Sadie went down on one knee.

“Where did you come from, big guy?” Sadie held out her hand, palm up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been eaten up by a bear.” She ran her hand along the dog’s side. “Your ribs are poking through. How long since you’ve eaten?” The dog sauntered off to lie in the shade.

Sadie hadn’t noticed an old man sitting in a chair on the porch, slumped, with his jaw dropped. He could be dead. He could be a dead body somebody left here. But then something made him stir, maybe the dog’s gentle woof. His eyes opened, and he looked up under his worn black hat, then yanked it off to have a better look at her. He was as bald as an egg and needed a shave. His neck shrank back from the collar on his shirt. He was looking at Sadie like he thought he knew her. Sadie’s mind whirled. She wanted to run away, but she had to see this through.

“THERE YOU ARE. I WANT MY DINNER.” The old man’s jaw wobbled as he spoke, and Sadie could see there was not a tooth in his head. He had an unusually loud voice for such a withered old man. The old man squinted at her over his glasses. “I WANT MY SUPPER IS WHAT I WANT.” He looked around the front yard. “ANNIE, I’M HUNGRY. IT’S PAST SUPPERTIME.”

Now Sadie was up on the porch, gripping the post. She was Annie, and he wanted his supper, and she didn’t know what to do. “I’m not Annie. I’m Sadie. SADIE LAPP. NOT ANNIE.”

The old man’s eyes were just watery slits now, and he was getting really excited. A big cane was tucked behind his chair. The old man thrashed around in his chair, looking for his cane, and she wanted to keep out of its range.

The yellow dog gave out another feeble woof. Sadie looked at it again. Something dawned on her—this was the puppy her brother Menno had given to Annie a year or so ago, now full grown. The realization made her sad. Menno took pride in his pups’ well-being.