The Tempted Soul (20 page)

He found his refuge in his horses and his tack and the sweet smell of old summer in the hay.

She found hers in the chickens and their innocent companionship and the simple joys they found in garden and orchard.

Why couldn’t they find their refuge in each other?

Carrie was afraid to look at such a question too closely, in case she found the answer.

T
hank goodness Tuesday came before Wednesday, which meant Carrie could gather strength and grace from quilting with Amelia and Emma before she met with the women of the community.

With the trip up to Rigby and everything that had happened, sending out another flock of notes to cancel the meeting had not occurred to her even once, and by the time Emma brought it up toward the end of their frolic, it was too late to call it off.

So, on Wednesday at two, Carrie held open the door just long enough for the rain and wind to push women through it, and slammed it behind them. Amelia and Emma came together, bringing Amelia’s mother, Ruth Lehman. Carrie’s sister Susan picked up Mary Lapp, and then collected Lydia’s aunt, Priscilla Bontrager, at the Whinburg bus station on their way in. And to Carrie’s surprise, Esther Grohl brought her youngest sister, Sarah—she who had been seeing Alvin Esch.

“She and Lydia used to be friendly, before all this happened,” Esther explained as she took off her coat and black away bonnet, both dripping with rain. “She wanted to help.”

Carrie slipped an arm around the girl’s waist and squeezed her. “I’m sure she can.”

She’d been up at five that morning baking, so there was a carrot cake, juicy with canned pineapple and raisins, three kinds of pie, and a blueberry coffee cake with a cinnamon streusel topping. Everyone had brought something—even Sarah opened her navy-and-pink backpack and shyly offered to cut the banana loaf inside if Carrie would lend her a knife.

When everyone had a mug of coffee and a plate of something to enjoy, and had settled on the sofa and various kitchen chairs in the sitting room, Carrie cleared her throat, before everyone got to visiting and forgot the reason they were all there.

“
Denki
, everyone, for coming. I know you’re busy and have households and hungry men to get back to before long.”

“Aren’t you going to wait for Lydia?” Mary Lapp asked.

“And Aleta?” Ruth Lehman angled her head to look down the hall, as though Aleta would step out of the guest room at the sound of her name.

“My mother-in-law went home a few days ago,” Carrie said steadily, “and Lydia said she would not be coming.”

Mary sat back in her chair. “Well, I wish I’d known that. It’s a little hard to make plans for a baby without its mother here.”

“Carrie couldn’t exactly drive over there and force her into the buggy,” Susan pointed out. “Besides, we can help whether she wants us to or not. There are all kinds of things we can do.”

Priscilla Bontrager looked from one face to another. Carrie had made sure she knew everyone’s names, but the woman hadn’t taken much part in the chatter over the plates of sweets. She was maybe thirty-eight or thirty-nine, with dark hair and a sweet, rounded face under her organdy
Kapp
. Her eyes were brown and filled with apprehension. And in the downward tilt of her eyelids, in the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes, lay sadness—the kind she had lived with a long time. The kind that you don’t expect will ever leave, so you just get used to bearing it.

Maybe that was what made Carrie say, “Priscilla, Lydia is your niece. Maybe you could tell us the best way to help her—even if she’s adamant that she doesn’t want any help.”

Priscilla swallowed a mouthful of coffee as though it would give her courage. “I don’t know where to start,” she said hoarsely, then coughed and went on, “I haven’t seen Lydia since she was twelve.”

Someone drew a sharp breath.

“I know that sounds terrible, but it’s the truth. I only live fifteen miles away, but it might as well be fifteen hundred.” She looked out the window at the rain, which was now sheeting sideways with the violence of the wind. The big window shuddered under the fist of it. “Our family is small. My parents were old when they had Rachel and me—we’re twins—and they’re gone now. So is my older sister. After Rachel’s death”—her eyes filled with tears—“well, the doctors say it was pneumonia, but I know full well my dad died of grief, and Mamm wasn’t long behind him.” She sat straighter, and blinked several times. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for ancient history.”

Aleta would have asked whether the family thought Abe Zook had allowed his wife to die. How many of the women in the room were silently wondering the same thing? But such a question could never be asked—or answered—in public.

“Lydia has told Carrie that she plans to give the baby up to an
Englisch
family for adoption,” Susan said gently. “She says she wants it raised
Englisch
, not Amish. But if she could be convinced not to do that, are you able to take the child? You’re her closest relative that we know of.”

Carrie drew a breath at the sharpness of the pain that lanced through her. Amelia and Emma both slid concerned glances her way. How could Susan ask such a thing?

But then, in all fairness, Susan didn’t know that Carrie wanted the baby. Her question was natural. Right. It had to be asked.

But oh, how it hurt!

“My husband works at a shop in Strasburg, making things out of wood for the tourists. I sell quilts out of our home, and we have eight children in a four-room house. Of course I would take the poor little
Bobbel
, but…” Her voice trailed off while the picture she had painted resonated in the mind’s eye of everyone in the room.

Carrie felt a moment’s guilt at having three bedrooms for only two people in this big farmhouse when this woman would probably thank God rejoicing if she only had a lean-to out back to put some of the children in.

Then again, if Carrie had eight children to love, she would thank God rejoicing, too.

“Of course you would,” Mary Lapp said. “But if perhaps there was a home that had not yet been blessed with children, would you consider allowing them to adopt?”

“Adopt my niece or nephew? My sister’s grandchild?” The color faded from Priscilla’s cheeks, then flooded back in. “I don’t know. Perhaps it won’t come to that. Perhaps Lydia will change her mind when her baby is put into her arms.”

“And perhaps she won’t.” Esther Grohl glanced at her teenage sister. “Tell them what she told you, Sarah.”

Sarah blushed scarlet at having to speak in front of a roomful of women who were older and had more responsibility than she. “She…she said her baby wasn’t going to grow up Amish, and if she had to take the bus into Lancaster to have it at the county hospital, she would.”

“Why would she do that when we have a perfectly good hospital right close to Whinburg?” Ruth asked.

“Anonymity,” Emma said. “A big, bustling hospital where you could give a false name on the way in and leave with no one being the wiser.”

“I think they would be the wiser,” Ruth said. “Has that girl ever been in a hospital to have a baby? Have you, for that matter? I don’t think that would happen.”

“Of course not,” Emma said with admirable calm. Ruth didn’t mean to be offensive, Carrie was sure. But she, Aleta, and Mary were afflicted with the habit of telling the truth without grace, and you just had to take it into account. “But I can see how a teenager would have these ideas.”

“Let’s deal with those difficulties when we get to them,” Amelia suggested. “How are we going to help Lydia now?”

“She’s not taking any vitamins,” Carrie offered, “and I can’t get her to promise to see the doctor. That seems like the first thing to sort out, I think.”

“The baby’s not going to thrive on a diet of pizza and potatoes, that’s certain.” Mary Lapp gave an emphatic nod. “I’ll make it my business to get her to Doctor Stewart in town. After she cured Amelia, she can do anything, maybe even get a teenager to take her folic acid.”

“She didn’t actually cure me,” Amelia said gently. “She just gave me the right diagnosis.”

“Regardless.” Mary Lapp went on with majestic disregard for fine details. “That doctor’s young, too, and red-headed. Maybe Lydia will take to her. On the subject of food, I can organize a group to bring something nutritious for supper several days a week.”

“She can cook,” Sarah Grohl offered.

“I’m sure she can, but not when she’s working at the fabric store or gadding about in the evenings. We’ll look after that. What else?”

“I think the bishop should have a word with Abe Zook,” Ruth said. “Abe might not be a help, but we don’t want him being a hindrance, either. I don’t relish the thought of holding a hot casserole and being chased off his porch for my trouble.”

“I’d better start writing these down.” Mary Lapp fished in her handbag and brought out a pen and a wrinkled envelope.

“The baby will need clothes and blankets,” Susan said.

“We’re starting a quilt next week,” Carrie told her. “Emma’s wedding quilt will be finished, and that’s next on our list.” Amelia and Emma both turned their heads to stare at her, and she smiled brightly. “A pretty watercolor nine-patch will go together quickly, don’t you think?”

“It’d better,” Ruth Lehman muttered. “At the rate you three sew, the child will be in school before she gets it.”

Carrie’s smile grew broader, and the twinkle came back to Emma’s eyes as she said, “We’ll have it done in a month, I promise.”

Susan said, “I have lots of baby clothes saved from when the girls were small. Anything that’s missing, I can sew. Tiny garments go together quickly.”

Mary Lapp looked up from her notes. “Anything else? What about a crib and changing table?”

Amelia said, “I can lend those. I have them in the attic. Diapers, too.”

“You saved diapers?” Carrie said curiously.

Amelia shrugged. “You never know when God will open His hand and send another blessing.”

The women looked at one another with interest. Clearly Amelia and Eli were thinking of children of their own. Amelia didn’t miss it, either. She blushed and concentrated on finishing up her slice of pumpkin pie.

“I would like to give her some baby clothes, too,” Priscilla said softly, diverting everyone’s attention. “Mamm saved some of Rachel’s little things. Maybe Lydia would like to have them.”

“If we can convince her to keep the baby,” Ruth Lehman reminded them. “We should focus on getting her to take care of herself before the birth. If she really does give it up, then she’ll have no use for clothes and changing tables.”

In the excitement of planning for a new baby, even Carrie had forgotten the possibility that it might not come home. A cold feeling tiptoed down her back. Surely with all the love and concern in this room, Lydia could be convinced to do the right thing?

And how could Carrie pray for the girl to keep her child, when she herself wanted to give the baby a home so badly it hurt?

Carrie had been looking forward to a family Thanksgiving, with Aleta accompanying them to the King homestead, which her parents had been farming now for forty years. Her mother, Miriam, loved it when all her chicks were back in the nest, particularly when they brought their children, and other relatives came in from outlying areas of the district. The table just expanded to fit everyone, making a big U-shape between the dining room and sitting room.

For Carrie, this year’s family dinner was overshadowed by Aleta’s absence—which she would never have imagined in a hundred years. Was it because she had wanted to cultivate that tiny sprig of friendliness between them? Or because it seemed that Aleta was the only one close to Melvin who really saw things from her side?

The temptation to spill out her desire to adopt to her mother and sisters as they worked side by side to cook the dinner was overwhelming, but she hauled it back. If she said anything, negative things about Melvin’s refusal to consider it would come out, not to mention the real reason Aleta had gone home. Loyalty prevented it. It was one thing for Amelia and Emma to know. But her family, much as she loved them, never met a secret they didn’t set free, most of the time accidentally in conversation about other things.

So there you were. She laughed and dished up mountains of potatoes and cut an unending series of pumpkin and raisin pies, and said not a word about what was really in her heart.

For Christmas they traditionally traveled to Aleta’s to spend the holiday with Melvin’s family, but the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, a letter came.

“Do you think she’s offended?” Carrie handed the letter to Amelia, who smoothed it with one hand on the quilt top as she read. “This is the first time since I’ve been married that we haven’t gone to Melvin’s family’s home place for Christmas.”

Amelia handed the letter to Emma. “It sounds to me like she’s had enough of the weather down there and jumped at the chance to go somewhere warm.”