The heat of a blush flooded her face. She stuttered, “You know what I mean.”
Stop talking. I sound like an idiot.
Nick pointed to the ceiling. “Is that the access?”
“Yes.” She worked to appear calm and composed, cool even. It was hard when his nearness sent her pulse skyrocketing and made every nerve stand on end.
He crossed the room and reached the cord that hung down without any trouble. The long panel swung open and a set of steps came partway down. He unfolded them and tested their sturdiness, then started upward. When he vanished into the darkness above her, Miriam called up, “Shall I get a flashlight?”
A bright beam of light illuminated the rafters. “I’ve got one.”
Of course he did. She’d noticed it earlier on his tool belt. Sheriff Nick Bradley seemed to be prepared for every contingency from checking baby formula to searching cobweb-filled corners.
Strong, levelheaded, dependable,
they were some of the words she had used to describe him to her Amish girlfriends so long ago. It seemed that he hadn’t changed.
Miriam jerked her mind out of the past. This had to stop. She couldn’t start mooning over Nick the way she had when she was a love-struck teenager. Too much stood between them.
He leaned over the opening to look down at her. “Any idea where the baby bed is? There’s a lot of stuff up here.”
“No idea. If you can’t find a crib in an attic, you’re not much of a detective.” Her words came out sounding sharper than she intended. She was angry with herself for letting him get under her skin.
The sound of a heavy object hitting the floor overhead made her jump. It was quickly followed by his voice. “Sorry. I don’t think it broke.”
She scowled upward. “What was that?”
“Just an old headboard.”
“Great grandmother’s cherrywood headboard, hand carved by my great-grandfather?”
“Could be.” His voice was a shade weaker.
Miriam started up the steps. “Let me help before you bring the house down on our heads.”
“It’s tight up here.”
“It might be for a six-foot moose,” she muttered. She reached the top of the steps to find him holding out his hand to help her. Reluctantly, she accepted it and stepped up into the narrow open space beside him. They were inches apart. She wanted to jump backward but knew there was nothing but air behind her. It was hard to draw a breath. Her pulse skipped and skittered like a wild thing. She pulled her hand from his.
He said, “It’s tight even for a five-foot-three fox.”
She could hear the laughter under his words. Annoyed at his familiarity, she snapped, “It’s not politically correct to call a woman a fox.”
He cleared his throat. “I was referring to your red hair, Miriam. It’s also not politically correct to call an officer of the law a moose.”
Turning away, he banged his head on a kerosene lamp hanging from one of the rafters.
She slipped past him on the narrow aisle. “If the shoe fits... I think the baby stuff is down here.”
Beneath the dim light coming through a dormer window, she spied a cradle piled high with old clothes and blankets. A wide-rimmed black hat and a straw hat sat atop the pile. She knew before she touched them that they had belonged to Mark.
Tenderly Miriam lifted the felt hat and covered her face with it. She breathed deeply, but no trace of her brother’s scent remained. A band tightened around
her heart until she thought it might break in two.
“Are they Mark’s things?” Nick asked behind her.
She could only nod. Even after all these years, it was hard to accept that she would never see him again. He’d been her other half. She was incomplete without him. She could hear his laughter and see his face as clearly as if he were standing in front of her.
Nick lifted a stack of boxes and papers from the seat of a bentwood rocker and set them on the floor. He took the clothing and blankets from the cradle and laid them aside, leaving the flashlight on top of the pile. Picking up the cradle, he said, “I’ll take this down. You can bring the baby clothes when you find them.”
He didn’t wait for her reply. When he was gone, she sat in the rocker and crushed her brother’s hat against her chest as hot tears streamed down her face.
* * *
Nick descended the attic steps with the sound of Miriam’s weeping ringing in his ears. He wanted to help, but he knew anything he offered in the way of comfort would be rejected. It hurt to know she still grieved so deeply.
After making his way down to the kitchen, he found Ada and the baby both asleep in the rocker. The bottle in Ada’s slack hand dripped formula onto the floor. When he took it from her, she jerked awake, startling the baby who whimpered.
“Habe ich schlafe?”
Ada peered at Nick with confusion in her eyes.
“
Ja, Frau
Kauffman. You fell asleep,” he answered softly.
Childhood summers spent with his Amish grandmother and cousins had given him a decent understanding of the Amish language. While it was referred to as Pennsylvania Dutch, it was really Pennsylvania
Deitsh,
an old German dialect blended with English words into a language that was unique.
Ada sat up straighter and adjusted the baby in her arms. “Don’t tell Miriam. She already worries about me too much.”
“It will be our secret. Where shall I put the cradle?”
“Here beside me. I sleep downstairs now. Miriam insists on it. She doesn’t want me climbing the stairs.”
Taking a dishcloth from the sink, Nick mopped up the spilled milk. “I imagine Miriam gets her way.”
Ada looked toward the stairs, then leaned closer to Nick. “Not so much. If I get well, she will leave again. I may be sickly all year.”
He grinned. “That will be our secret, too.”
“
Goot.
Where is she?”
Nick’s grin faded. “She’s still in the attic. She found some of Mark’s things. I don’t think she was ready for that.”
“My poor daughter. She cannot see the blessings God has given her. She only sees what she has lost.”
“She needs more time, that’s all.”
“No, it is more than that. I miss my son every day. I miss my husband, God rest his soul. I mourn them, but in God’s own time I will join them in heaven. Until then, He has much for me to do here on earth. It will soon be time to plant my garden. With the weather getting nicer, I must visit the sick and the elderly. I have baking to do for the socials and weddings and I must pray for my child.”
“I’ll pray for her, too.”
“Bless you, Nicolas. I accept that Miriam will never return to our Amish ways, but my child carries a heavy burden in her heart. One she refuses to share. I pray every day that she finds peace.”
Ada struggled to her feet. Nick gave her a hand. “
Danki.
Take the baby, Nicolas.”
“Sure.” He accepted the tiny bundle from her amazed at how light the child was and how nice it felt to hold her.
“Sit. This cradle needs a good cleaning after more than twenty years in the attic. I’m so happy it is being put to use. It has been empty much too long.”
Nick sat in the rocker and gave himself over to enjoying the moment. He hoped one day to have children of his own. Finding a woman to be their mother was proving to be his stumbling block.
He remembered how badly his mother had handled being a cop’s wife. Even though he’d chosen small-town law enforcement over the big-city life his father craved, Nick wasn’t eager to put a family into the kind of pressure cooker he knew his job could create. It would take a very special woman to share his life. Once, he’d hoped it would be Miriam, but that dream had died even before the wreck took her brother’s life.
Chapter Three
M
iriam had recovered her composure by the time she came downstairs. She saw Nick rocking Hannah while her mother was busy wiping down the dusty cradle. Miriam’s eyes were drawn to the note still sitting in the plastic bag on the table. Somewhere, a young woman needed her help. She would concentrate on that and not on her tumultuous emotion.
She said, “It sounds like Hannah’s mother is in an abusive relationship.”
Nick said, “We’re only guessing.”
Miriam bit the corner of her lip. A young mother was having the worst day of her life. She’d done the unthinkable. She’d left her newborn baby on a doorstep. In her young eyes, the situation must have seemed desperate and hopeless. Miriam’s heart went out to her. At least, she had chosen to give her child a chance. It was more than others had done.
Nick said, “The note raises questions in my mind about the mother’s emotional state and about her situation but doesn’t spell out a crime. I’ll have it checked for fingerprints, but that’s a long shot. If the person who wrote the note is Amish, I doubt we’ll have his or her prints on file.”
Miriam held up the bag to study the handwriting. “You think the father may have written this?”
“I think our mother had help. Do you believe a new mother could harness up the horse and buggy drive out here after she’d just given birth? That’s one hardy woman if she did it alone.”
Nodding, Miriam said, “You have a point.”
Ada finished cleaning the cradle and covered the mattress with a clean quilt. “Amish women are tough. I know several who have had their child alone, and then driven to the home of a relative.”
Nick handed the baby to Ada. “That may be, but I have to consider the possibility that she had help. Miriam, did you see which way the buggy turned after it reached the highway?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t.” Miriam racked her memory of those few moments when the buggy had been in sight for something—anything that would help, but came up empty.
Somewhere a young woman needed help or she wouldn’t have taken the drastic measure of leaving her baby on a doorstep. Miriam had spent too many hours with confused, frightened Amish teenagers not to know the signs. This was a deep cry for help. She had turned her back on one desperate mother years ago. Nothing but bitter ashes had flowed from that decision. She would not do it again. This time, she had to help.
Turning around, she grabbed her denim jacket from the peg by the door. “The lane is still muddy from the rain yesterday. We might be able to tell which way they turned.”
“Good thinking.” Nick pulled the door open and held it for her. Bella was waiting for them outside. She jumped up to greet Nick with muddy paws. He pushed her aside with a stern, “No.” Bella complied.
Miriam glanced over her shoulder. “
Mamm,
it’s time to check your blood sugar. This added stress and lack of sleep could easily throw it out of whack.”
“All right, dear. I’ll get the baby settled and I’ll check it.” She rocked the baby gently in her arms and cooed to her in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“You know what to do if it’s low?”
“
Ja.
I’ll have a glass of milk and recheck it in thirty minutes. The honey is in the cabinet if it is too low, but I feel fine. Stop worrying.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Worrying was what Miriam did best these days. Her mother didn’t seem to realize how precarious her health was.
Outside, Miriam walked beside Nick down the lane. He asked, “How long has your mother been ill?”
“She had her first heart attack seven months ago. That’s when they discovered she was a diabetic. She had a second heart attack three weeks ago. Thankfully, it wasn’t as bad as the first one. She’s been doing okay, but I think she should be recovering more quickly than she has. Her energy level is so low. Everything makes her tired, and that frustrates her.”
“You’ve been here in Hope Springs for seven months?” He seemed amazed.
“Yes.” She’d taken pains to remain under his radar. Coming face-to-face with Nick was the last thing she wanted. His presence brought back all the pain and guilt she’d worked so hard to overcome. Now, he was in her home and in her business with no signs of leaving. Why hadn’t she followed her mother’s advice and left the midwife out of this?
“I imagine you had to quit your job in order to stay this long.” His sympathetic tone showed real compassion. It was hard to stay angry with him when he was being nice.
“I took a leave of absence from my job. My leave will be up in another month. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t go back by then.”
“That’s got to be hard on both of you.”
“She doesn’t have anyone else.” As soon as Miriam said it, she regretted pointing out the obvious.
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but his voice was neutral when he spoke. “We both know the Amish community will take care of Ada. She isn’t alone.”
“I know they will keep her fed and clothed, but she needs more than that. She needs someone to monitor her blood pressure and glucose levels and to make sure she takes her meds. She needs someone to make sure she eats the right things. If one more person drops by with a pan of cinnamon rolls or shoofly pie for her, I’m going to bar the door.”
“Want to borrow my gun?” There was a hint of laughter in his tone.
“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, amazed that he could so easily coax a smile from her. Her anger slipped further away. They had both suffered a loss when Mark died, but their lives hadn’t stopped. Nick had managed to move on. Perhaps she could, too.
He stopped and squatted on his heels to examine the ground. “My tires have erased any tracks the buggy might have left. I don’t see anything distinctive about the horseshoe marks.”
“Do you think the mother was coerced into leaving the baby?”
He rose and hooked his thumbs in his wide belt as he scanned the countryside. “Frankly, I don’t know what to think. The whole thing doesn’t fit. The Amish don’t operate this way. It’s so out of character.”
“The Amish have flaws and secrets like everyone else.” She would know. Flaws and secrets haunted her, every day and every night.
He must’ve heard something odd in her voice for he fixed her with an intense stare. She gazed at her feet.
He asked, “Who knows you are a nurse? Is it common knowledge?”
“I’m sure my mother has mentioned it to some of her friends.”
“Did you notice the note said ‘Meet me here a week from tonight.’ Did that strike you as odd?”
“A little. Why?”
“I don’t know. It just didn’t seem to fit. What about someone from your past? An Amish friend who might know you’re here with your mother.”
“No, there’s no one like that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“We were Swartzentruber Amish, remember? They are the strictest of the Old Order Amish. When I refused to join the faith, my parents had to shun me. My friends did the same. It wasn’t until after my father died that my mother chose to become a member of a less rigid order.”
“Didn’t that mean she would be excommunicated by her old bishop?”
“Yes. She gave up her friends and the people she’d known all her life. It was very hard, but she did it so that she could see me again. She was accepted into Bishop Zook’s congregation about a year ago. They are more progressive here. Unlike my old congregation, Bishop Zook’s church believes a person has the right to choose the Amish faith. Those who don’t are not punished.”
He said, “Bishop Zook is not the only bishop who believes that. Amber’s mother and my mother are sisters who both chose not to join the faith. They have siblings who remained Amish. My grandmother embraces all her family, Amish and English alike.”
“Some districts are that way, some are more strict, some are rigid in their beliefs and don’t tolerate any exceptions. People hear the word
Amish
and they think the Plain People are all the same. There are enormous differences.”
Miriam cocked her head to the side. “Wait a minute. If your mothers are sisters, why do you share the same last name with Amber?”
He grinned and started walking again, scanning the ground as he went. “Our mothers are sisters who married two brothers. Got to love small-town romances. Where did you live before you moved in with your mom?”
“Medina, Ohio.”
Bella left Miriam’s side and went hunting through the old corn stubble of the field beside them. It would soon be time for the farmer who rented her mother’s land to begin planting new crops.
“What kind of nursing do you do?” Nick asked, slanting a curious glance her way.
Was he really interested? “I work in adult critical care.”
“That’s a tough job.”
“Overdoses, strokes, trauma, heart attacks, we see it all.”
“And car accidents.” He looked away, but she saw the tension that came over him.
“Yes, car accidents,” she replied softly.
She expected him to drop the subject, but to her surprise, he didn’t. “Do you like it? I mean, not all the outcomes can be good.”
“Every patient deserves the chance to reach their full potential. I’m part of a team that works to make that happen. Sometimes, what they regain isn’t as much as they had before their event, but it’s not for lack of trying on our part. For every loss of life, we see a dozen recoveries.” It struck her as odd to be talking about her work with Nick, but she wanted him to know she was about making a difference in people’s lives and she loved her work.
“When do you find the time to foster little kids?”
“I don’t. I foster teens.”
“Really?”
She met his gaze. There was a new respect in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. Lifting her chin, she said, “They are mostly Amish runaways.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Today has been chock full of surprises.”
“You don’t approve? They are kids with nothing but an eighth-grade education. They don’t have driver’s licenses or social security cards. They are completely ill prepared for life in the outside world.”
“I know that.”
“If by some stroke of luck they can find work, they have to take low-paying jobs. Most get paid under the table from employers happy to take advantage of them. Without outside help, leaving the Amish is almost impossible for some of them.”
“You left.”
She started walking again. “Don’t think it was easy.”
“When did you start hating the Amish way of life?”
Stunned, she spun to face him. “I don’t hate it. It’s a beautiful way to live. The Amish believe in simplicity. Their lives are focused on faith in God and in keeping close family and community ties.”
Quietly, he said, “They believe in forgiveness, too, Miriam.”
“It sounds easy to say you forgive someone. Actually doing it is much harder. Did they ever catch the man who shot your father?”
He looked away. “No.”
“It’s tough when there’s no justice in life, isn’t it?”
Meeting her gaze, he nodded. “Yes. That’s why I trust that God will be the ultimate judge of men.”
She waited for the boiling anger to engulf her, but it didn’t materialize. Maybe she was just too tired. She wanted to stay angry at him, but it was easier when she couldn’t see the pain in his eyes. He knew what it was to lose someone he loved.
Nick started walking again. “If you admire the Amish, why help kids leave?”
“Because there are other ways to live that are just as important and as meaningful. You can’t be a doctor or a nurse if you are Amish. You can’t create new medicines or go to college, build dams or explore the oceans. You can’t question the teachings of your church leaders. That said, two-thirds of the teenagers who come to me wanting a taste of
Englisch
life go back to their Amish families. Why? Because it’s what they desire in their hearts. My job is to help them sort out what they truly want.”
“Okay, I get it. That’s cool.” He walked to the edge of the highway and sank to his heels again as he examined the ground.
Did he get what she did and why? Or was he simply trying to placate her? She stopped a few feet away from him. Her shifting emotions made it difficult to stay focused on the task at hand.
He looked at her. “Could your efforts to help Amish youth be the reason someone brought this baby to you?”
“I don’t think so. No one here knows what I do in Medina. My mother doesn’t approve. While I’m living under her roof, I have to respect her feelings. Most people know me only as a driver for hire. I needed some kind of income while I’m here, and I can’t spend the long hours away from Mom that a nursing job would require.”
He gestured toward the road. “Our buggy went toward Hope Springs. See the way the impression of the wheels turn here and carried the mud out onto the highway.”
“I do.” She gazed at the thin tire track disappearing down the winding roadway. She could see half a dozen white Amish farmhouses along either side of the road before the road vanished over the hill. How many Amish families lived in that direction or on one of the many roads that branched off the highway? Fifty? A hundred? Where would they start looking for one scared, desperate young woman?