Child of Mine (4 page)

And then, for some inexplicable reason, Kelly began pushing her away, refusing Melody's calls and ignoring her texts, until they'd stopped coming altogether.

She felt queasy now, her breath shortening.

Melody grabbed her cola. “I'm real sorry we lost touch, Kelly. I mean it.”

Kelly gave her a smile, another shrug, a way of saying,
“Things happen.”

“We should get together,” Melody suggested. “For all the old times . . .” It was what old friends said, a polite way of parting, Kelly thought, just before they raced back to their new lives.

Melody paused a moment longer as her eyes took in the dingy convenience store, the kind of work that was well beneath Kelly's ability. She seemed to evaluate Kelly's haggard appearance, the faded blouse, the dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't hide.

“Are you okay, Kelly?” she asked, and it was the sincerity that tugged at Kelly's heart. She steeled herself against it.
Is my
gaunt appearance that disturbing?

“I'm holding up,” Kelly replied, wishing Melody out the door. She was relieved when the car horn beeped.

Distracted by her friends, Melody waved her cell phone, but there were tears in her eyes.

Don
't feel sorry for me,
Kelly thought.

“Same number, Kel?”

She was confused at first, then realized Melody was confirming her phone number.

“No,” Kelly lied.

“Well, mine is.”

One last glance, a quick wave. “'Bye, Kelly,” and Melody was gone. Gone to her life of child-raising, girls' nights out, and a loving husband. A life apparently unblemished by sorrow. A painful reminder of two lives taking different turns.

My fault,
Kelly thought when she was alone again, leaning against the counter, remembering the past. And that pitying look in Melody's eyes, as if Kelly had gone off the deep end. Now, as much as she'd wanted Melody to leave, she missed her terribly. Even more, she missed what might have been and what never could be.

My baby girl's almost nine,
Kelly thought, having ticked off every second of Emily's life. In reality, she'd raced the clock for years, knowing the longer it took, the harder it would be.

I don't
care how thin I must look,
she told herself.
Not
if it means finding Emily.
And she wondered if Melody thought she was crazy for still searching for her daughter all this time—not that it mattered what Melody thought. Because even if the line of people who still believed in her dream was getting shorter, she still had enough hope and faith to make up for all the doubt in the world.

J
ack awakened to the sound of his neighbor's motorcycle revving to life. He groaned and turned over, covering his head with his pillow. A few tormented moments later, Craig Farley's passion growled down the street until it became a distant whine.

Last night's storm had passed, but the wind remained, buffeting the house with the gravelly sound of twigs and leaves. Despite that, the morning sun flickered through the tall trees surrounding the house. It lit up his bedroom curtains with fiery yellow and scattered shadows across the opposite wall.

Jack opened one eye and peered at the clock. Six-twenty. Turning onto his back, he mentally rehearsed the day's schedule. Taking the wind into consideration, he might have to cancel his training flight at ten o'clock with Todd Creighton, the mayor's son, a gangly high school student with a need for speed. Depending on the crosswind component, a wind over twenty knots could be tricky stuff for a newbie, even for someone like Todd, who showed up at the airfield in his daddy's old GT Mustang, a rumbling contraption of sleek metal and wicked curves.

As the owner of Higher Ground, which employed a team of
Certified Flight Instructors, or CFIs, Jack set his own hours—sometimes as little as five to ten hours a week, especially in the summer when school break allowed more time with Nattie.

Jack shed the covers and swayed into the bathroom. Moments later, he emerged, saw the bed, fought the urge and failed, landing prone again.
Just a few more
minutes,
he promised himself.

He heard sounds from the kitchen below—a clattering of utensils and plates, the soft thump of the refrigerator door mingled with spurts of Nattie's muffled laughter, and the scent of pancakes and eggs filtering up. In the background, he could detect the sounds of music emanating from the local contemporary Christian station.

Sitting up in bed, Jack reached for the lamp, then picked up his devotional and found a short two-page biographical story on George Mueller, the nineteenth-century minister who'd funded and managed orphanages purely by faith and prayer,
never
asking for a cent.

Mueller had spent the night in prayer, asking for provisions, but when dawn broke the darkness, there still was no food in the pantry. Unwilling to give in to discouragement, Mueller seated the orphans around the empty table and must have considered that his grand experiment in faith might fail. Undaunted, he asked everyone to bow their heads, and proceeded to thank God for providing. Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Needless to say, the orphans ate well that day.

Jack closed his eyes and whispered his prayers, asking for direction and wisdom, and thanking God for the answers in advance.

He prayed for Nattie, for Laura and San, and he asked for understanding regarding Nattie's current troubles, finishing with the usual,
Whatever happens, don't let me fail Nattie.

Just as he finished his prayer, he heard a soft tapping at the door.

“Sweet pea?” he answered.

Her hair frizzy and somewhat scattered, Nattie peeked in, wearing her green robe and froggy slippers. “Breakfast is served.” Pushing
in with her elbow, Nattie carried a tray of pancakes, eggs, and half a banana to his bedside.

He sat up straighter, pushing himself up from the mattress. “Whoa, what's the occasion?”

“You stayed up too late, so I thought—” Nattie stopped suddenly, reconsidering. “Actually, it was
Laura's
idea. She thought you might be too tired to come downstairs.”

Jack searched the plate for silverware. “Laura's?”

Nattie followed his gaze. “Hold on!” She scampered away, leaving Jack to wonder about her latest scheme. Moments later, breathless, she was back with silverware and a glass of pulpy orange juice. She placed them on his tray in an exacting fashion, fully determined to achieve the proper presentation.

“You'll have to tell Laura how much I appreciate her thoughtfulness.”

Heading for the door, his little green amphibian brightened. “I will! I will
definitely
tell her that.” She turned back again. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Laura's fixing your coffee. It's dripping into the thingy. I'll bring it up when it's done.”

She dashed away again, leaving Jack to pick through his food. The late-night ice cream hadn't set well, and after taking a few obligatory bites of breakfast, he decided to hold off awhile, taking a few deep breaths.
I'm not twenty anymore
.

Nattie eventually returned with the coffee, placed it on his tray, sniffed it once, and said, “Ick.” And then she was gone.

He sipped it in silence, then slipped on his argyle robe, one of the many clothing articles San had threatened to burn. He wandered into the hallway and peered down to the open room below, squinting against the sunlight streaming through high windows along the opposite wall.

Below, Nattie was sitting at the kitchen counter, elbows on the long bar, palms under her chin, accompanied by a furry creature on either side. Laura, wearing a plum-colored dress and matching apron, gave her a cheerful expression and moved about the
kitchen with her domestic duties. She placed two strips of bacon in the skillet. They sizzled and spattered, the scent reaching him instantly. Nattie's favorite breakfast food, next to Pop-Tarts.

He observed for a moment longer, watching as Nattie chattered animatedly, gesturing with her hands, once accidently brushing away her list-making paper, sending it over the counter's edge. Laura bent and retrieved it, and Nattie continued her conversation. Every few words, Laura would turn and respond, nodding, smiling, or frowning with surprise.

The scene warmed his heart. Laura didn't just listen to Nattie, and she never patronized her; she participated in Nattie's world, down to the smallest details. She even knew the names and personalities of Nattie's stuffed animals, all one hundred of them and counting. And she could recite, nearly verbatim, every one of Nattie's lists, no matter the topic.

Shortly after his brother and wife had adopted Natalie, they had placed an ad for a part-time nanny-housekeeper on their church bulletin board. Days later, Laura showed up on their doorstep.

“And, get this, she
drives,
” Danny had told Jack during one of their rare phone conversations. “Never heard of an Amishwoman with wheels, have you?”

At the time, Jack hadn't, although he now knew of a few Plain groups that allowed car ownership, including Laura's Beachy Amish cousins with whom she lived in Apple Creek, southeast of Wooster.

According to Danny, Laura had been raised and baptized into a conservative church in Lancaster County until she was excommunicated.

“What happened?” Jack had inquired, but Danny didn't know, and he didn't seem to care. Laura was wonderful with Nattie, and that's all that mattered. All that mattered to Jack, as well. So here they were, these many years later, and Jack still knew little about the young woman who ran their lives so efficiently and kept Nattie on the straight and narrow.

Unfortunately, Laura's unexplained Old Order Amish past exasperated San, who was a magnet for mysteries, a moth-to-the-flame for drama, and as Danny had often said, “
Our sister likes to poke the
bear, if for no reason other than to hear the
bear growl.”

“She may be shunned, but she's still Amish. It's not like she's plunged into the world,” San had argued.

“
Beachy
Amish,” Jack corrected.

“Whatever.” San rolled her eyes. “So why hasn't she repented?”

I'm glad she hasn't,
Jack thought, otherwise they'd have lost her to her former community by now. It was selfish, certainly, but Laura's unresolved issues were their gain, and yes, none of it seemed to hang together, but who cared? He couldn't imagine their life without Laura. And it didn't take a genius to figure out the Amish were known to shun for the strangest reasons, like wearing a hat with a too-narrow brim, or owning a cell phone, or opening a forbidden Facebook account.

Whatever her secrets, Laura kept them to herself, and if she hadn't consistently behaved in contrast to someone shun-able, they wouldn't have wondered. The mere word
shun
seemed reserved for rebels, not for someone as gentle and submissive as Laura Mast.

Jack was still leaning over the upstairs railing when Laura looked up. “Hullo.
Wie geht's?
” she asked.

He complimented her on breakfast, and she beamed her thanks. Nattie wheeled around. “Uncle Jack! Laura's taking me to the park.”

He pretended to be chagrined. “Again?”

“Yes!” Nattie squealed. “Again and again and again, until I'm old and gray like you.”

Jack cinched his robe tighter and joined them downstairs for his second cup of coffee. Busy with her latest list, Nattie gestured to the stool beside her. “Belly up, Uncle Jack.”

Laura was now scrubbing the stove top, occasionally wiping the perspiration from her forehead, then stepping back and putting her hands on her hips, as if appraising her progress.

Nattie announced, “Laura's wearing purple today. I think she looks good in purple, don't you, Uncle Jack?”

Jack whispered in Nattie's ear. “Don't start.”

“Just sayin'.”

Laura looked down, studying her own clothing. “
Ach
, the color ain't too bright, is it?”

“Not at all,” Jack replied, eyeing Nattie.

“It's breathtaking,” Nattie said. “And
zimmlich
—pretty.”

Laura said something to Nattie in
Deitsch,
which was lost on Jack. Nattie replied quickly, and he smiled, amused that his little girl and her nanny shared their own private language.

In a few minutes, Laura left to gather the laundry from upstairs. Shortly, she returned to review the grocery list. “Any special requests?”

Nattie spoke up. “We're out of Pop-Tarts.”

“I'm afraid three a day is
not
a balanced diet,” Laura replied.

Nattie looked horrified.

“You heard her,” Jack said, sipping his coffee.

“But I like Tarts.”

Laura placed the list on the counter. “Well, I think we're all set, then.” She strolled out to the family room. Nattie took this moment to offer another unsolicited suggestion. “I was just thinking about your date, Uncle Jack. You could take Laura out to lunch, you know.”

Our date?
Jack whispered a quick, “Drop it, young lady, and mind your p's and q's if you ever want to eat another Tart for as long as you live.”

Sitting up straight, Nattie pursed her lips, taking a deep breath and blowing the dejected air between her lips. They traded glances again. He raised his eyebrows, and she sniffed defiantly.

“Young lady . . .”

“I was just breathing,” she huffed. “I can
breathe
, can't I?”

Jack took another sip, then reached over, grabbed Nattie's tiny piglet creature, and slowly walked it over all the way to Nattie's
finished cereal bowl. “Please don't eat me, Mrs. Farmer,” he beseeched her in a high-pitched pig squeal.

Nattie giggled, and all was well. Well enough to share with him her summer activities list:

1) Riding bikes

2) Swimming at the pool

3) Watching hummers with Laura

4) Going to DQ

5) Playing at the park—(it's number 5 'cause I'm basically nine)

“Ambitious list,” Jack said, reading on through number fifteen, pretending to study it, and noting the placement of watching hummingbirds before going to Dairy Queen or playing at the park.

“That's your copy,” Nattie said.

“I don't see piano practice listed.”

Nattie frowned. “It's
summer
.”

Jack chuckled. He pointed to number nine's sleepover request. “And I don't remember Hannah. I have to meet all of your peeps' parents first. Remember? And if I don't approve, all bets are off.”

Grinning, Nattie saluted respectfully. “Aye, aye, captain!”

After folding last night's movie blanket and straightening the family room, Laura came over and put her hand on Nattie's shoulder. “It's gonna be rather hot today, honey-girl.”

Nattie replied in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“A good day for shorts,” Jack seconded, mentioning the dearth of nectar for their hummingbirds.

“Jah,
gut
.”
Laura promptly added white sugar to the list. When he finished his coffee, Laura swiped his cup and carried it to the dishwasher.

Returning upstairs, Jack showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Afterward, he settled in for an hour of work in his office, located at the far corner of the house, where an entire wall was
dedicated to aviation history: trinkets, flight DVDs, aircraft posters, and a single wooden shelf holding several models.