Promise to Cherish (34 page)

“Don’t you worry about us. We’ll get by. I’m taking in some sewing and taking some baked goods to the market.” Margie nodded and whisked away tears as she spoke. “Write to me when you settle at the home?”

Christine bit her lip as she nodded. Then she left the car and
carried her suitcase over to Freddy’s car. Her eyes were on Eli as she walked. He leaned against the car. Neither of them smiled. Too much had happened between them the day before.

As they reached the bus station Eli looked at the list of cities they could travel to. Everywhere looked brighter than the journey from Poughkeepsie to Dover. But he bought their tickets back home to Dover and the quiet of Sunrise, a fresh and heavy burden atop his shoulders.

Christine slept against his shoulder most of the trip, giving him a lot of time to think—spinning through the different scenarios of where his life was going. Committing to leaving or staying; whatever he decided, he needed to follow through instead of waffle back and forth. The driver he’d arranged for dropped them both off at Christine’s cottage. Eli paid him and by the time he turned around Christine was already inside and the door was closed. He let out a heavy sigh as he walked away.

Eli stepped into the house, and his parents turned from their letters to look at him. Eli was glad to see that no one else was in the living room. His father stood. His jaw so set Eli could see it bulge from across the room.

“Eli, you’re back,” he said.

“I am.” He tried to keep his voice even. His dad had every right to question his commitment, he knew. “I’m sorry that you question this, but I am going to buy the land on the east side of the farm and I’m going to build. I know I haven’t given you very much confidence in my decision making but I want to change that.”

His dad shook his hand and nodded his head a few times.

“All right, son,” he said. “Let’s parcel it out.”

CHAPTER 28

M
ark, Sylvia, and their twins were in their house less than a month after Jeanne’s wedding. Christine had never seen anything like it in her life. The look on Sylvia’s face when she showed Christine around her new home warmed her heart. She’d been living in Eli’s bedroom for so many months. She said the house was even bigger than the one that had burned down. There was so much hope for the young family’s future. It was almost too much for Christine to handle.

Eli didn’t move back into the house, but the day after Mark’s house was done, he started surveying his own land to begin building. She’d watch him walk out to the eastern property, behind the cottage, and work between his chores at the farm and then again late into sunset. Her prayers were more frequent than ever before. She prayed to be healed. Less from the pain of rape and the guilt—those feelings slowly faded away as her heart made room for Eli.

Christine found the courage to write the Stony Creek Ladies Home to see if they had room for her. After the letter was written it still took her several days before she put it in the mail. It
was June and her small bulge suddenly had become much larger, and she was constantly hot.

Her mother and Jeanne wrote to her every few weeks. Her mother never mentioned any of their money problems, which concerned her. Was there more than just selling the house? Jeanne, on the other hand, sounded happy in her new life. She didn’t say so, but Christine could hear that they were hoping to start a family. In one moment the thought that perhaps Jeanne would be willing to adopt her child crossed her mind and in the next moment she knew that wouldn’t work. It would be one thing to give her baby to a family she didn’t know from the maternity home, but a completely different thing to hand him over to her best friend. She would have to watch her child grow up right in front of her, but not be his mother. Her lungs tightened.

What were the chances that an Amish family would accept her child into their culture? She wouldn’t have to go to the home at all. She would just move away after the birth, maybe back to Poughkeepsie, and never come back to Sunrise. The countryside brought her such peace—she could imagine her own child growing up and roaming the same fields that she was growing attached to herself. He could watch the sunrise over the tree line then catch the sunset on a fishing hook after a day at a nearby pond or stream. He would never have to learn of his true beginnings. That was a comfort and a curse to Christine.

As she carried the child below her heart, she was the only person that mattered to the baby. When she imagined him growing and never knowing her, never knowing how she loved the kicks and stretches, and even in her darkest moments somehow found the light he brought from within her, it crushed her. But what option did she have? Women didn’t raise children on their own, and if they did they were considered outcasts from society. She didn’t want that for her child.

It seemed there was a natural pace to her life in the Amish
community. There was less than three months left. What happened after that was a mystery. None of it added up to her being happy. In every scenario there was loss and failure. Each time her reality left her desperately alone.

“Mail’s on the table,” Annie told her one afternoon after a visit with Sylvia.

When Christine picked up the envelope a shock ran up her arm. She had waited for several weeks to hear back from the maternity home.

“Excuse me,” she said quickly and closed herself in her room.

Dear Christine,

Thank you for your letter. We are sorry for your circumstances, but this does not have to be the end of your life. There are many families waiting to care for a child like yours.

We are currently full but would be able to accept you into our home by August. According to your letter you are due in early September. We will write to you confirming when a bed is available.

Sincerely yours,

Linda C. Mathers

Stony Creek Ladies Home

CHAPTER 29

R
eady?” Sylvia asked, calling from the open buggy.

Sylvia, Annie, and Christine were attending a quilting. It was tedious work in the heat of early August, but Christine was glad to go. It broke up the routine of the day and would give her mind something else to think about other than Eli and the baby.

The hosting woman was one of the elderly ladies, Ellen. All of her nine children were married with children. She had over fifty grandchildren and more on the way. Her husband had a large construction business but only worked a few days a week since his sons had taken it over. They were one of the wealthier families in the district. Christine had often heard of the beauty of their home but had yet to see it. These were the things the women talked about at church and other events.

Sylvia parked the buggy and a young boy, no older than ten or eleven, unhitched the horse and walked him away. It didn’t matter that Christine had seen this since her arrival in April, it never ceased to surprise her how capable these young children were in handling what she saw as adult responsibilities.

When she walked up to the front of Ellen’s home, the wide
wrap-around porch was filled with several small quilting racks. The hum of the women’s voices and the scent of fruit-filled pies enlivened Christine’s senses. The three of them received waves from several women, and Christine waved back. Ellen’s large frame came through the open front door and walked down the front steps. She was a rosy-cheeked woman with a genuine smile.

“Welcome,” Ellen said with a loud, songlike voice and a touch on each of their arms. “I am so glad you’ve joined us.”

“Now this looks like a party,” Annie said, giggling.

“I had no idea her house was so large and beautiful. I didn’t know any of the Amish had money for anything like this.”

Sylvia whispered in Christine’s ear. “They have eight boys and one daughter. Imagine how fast they can build a house with that many boys. They already have some grandsons working on the crew and employ other men as well. They have traveled all around the eastern states building houses because of their speed and craftsmanship. When you go in her kitchen, you’ll see. Their cabinets are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Mark calls it vanity.”

Christine’s eyes were wide as she took in the scene. She and Sylvia were separated from Annie, each sitting with women their own age. Christine had practiced small straight stitches, but this was her chance to sew a real quilt. It made her nervous and excited all at once. She concentrated as the women spoke. They quilted without thought.

“Christine, your stitching has really improved,” Sylvia commented. The other four ladies all took note, leaning over. “Annie and I both have been teaching her.”

“You didn’t grow up quilting?” Ida May asked. She was expecting her third child.

“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “My mother sews but doesn’t quilt.”

“Do you sew like your mother?” Sylvia Miller asked. Syl
via was a common name in the community, though Christine hadn’t known any before moving there. This Sylvia often went by Sylvie, which made conversations easier. Christine shook her head. “I’m getting better. My ma tried to teach me, but I wasn’t any good. Annie has taught me a lot though.”

“How did your appointment go with Dr. Sherman, Sylvia?” Ida May asked.

“
Es wah gut
.” Sylvia nodded and put her needle down as she spoke. She eyed Christine, who responded with a nod that she understood her brief words but Sylvia continued in English anyway. “He said that everything looks fine. He knows I lost the last baby and I’m nervous.”

Christine had heard all about her early delivery and Sylvia’s anxiety over this pregnancy. Her twins had been born at home with a well-liked midwife that many of the Amish used, but after her second pregnancy ended at six months in her bedroom with only her husband at her side and a tiny unmoving figure laying on bloody sheets, she was insisting on having her next baby in the hospital. She declared it was the only way she would feel safe.

“Are you also going to Dr. Sherman?” Sylvie asked Christine.

Christine was sure her face was blooming into a bright red. Though she’d been accepted well among the women in the community, she hadn’t been asked about the pregnancy by anyone except for Annie and Sylvia. She shook her head no.

“Oh, I thought since you were a nurse you’d feel better with a doctor.” Sylvie continued to sew as if she didn’t know how uncomfortable the conversation was for Christine and likely everyone else around the small quilt. Sylvie was eighteen and old enough to understand tactfulness but often acted even younger. “Then how do you like Suzie Klein? She’s been delivering babies for years around here.”

“I am not going to have Suzie Klein,” Christine said in a low, quiet voice.

“Well, then who is going to deliver your baby?” Sylvie’s voice was shrill and the circles of women around her looked over. Ida May elbowed the younger expectant mother. Sylvie looked undeterred and unaware.

Christine inhaled and cleared her throat.

“Aunt Annie,” she said. Of course, she’d likely not be in Sunrise anymore and be far away in the maternity home. “Since we live together and she delivered hundreds of babies when she lived in Ohio. It just feels like the best decision.”

“Oh, I could never do that.” Sylvie shook her head then leaned forward toward Christine. “She’s not even a mother. You know that, right?”

“She’s had
three
children.” Leaving behind her humility, her words were instead quilted tightly with the rough-hewn fabric of indignation.

“But it’s not the same. I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I want someone delivering my baby who knows what it’s like.” She said it in such a simple and light-hearted way it made Christine more infuriated.

“Last I heard Dr. Sherman never had a baby either. He’s never been
pregnant
and he’s never been a mother,” Christine said with a stealthy quiet. Then she stood, careful not to upset the table with her protruding belly. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Christine heard whispers behind her and footsteps. Sylvia strode up next to her with a giggle bursting out as soon as they were side-by-side.

“
Sis ken fashtant,
Christine
.
”

Yes, Christine couldn’t believe what she’d said either. She almost wanted to repeat the expression she heard multiple times a day from Annie.

“You have more nerve than my Uncle Perry at a quilting bee,” Sylvia finished.

She laughed again, breaking Christine’s dark mood, making her chuckle behind her hand.

“Sylvie has always been that way. Her mom is the same. She asks the queerest questions and doesn’t know that half of what she says isn’t very nice. They’re not trying to be mean, I hope you know that.”

“Well, by the time its church Sunday everyone’s going to know that I said the word
pregnant
and that the most well-liked doctor has never been a mother.”

Both the girls got as far as the line of buggies and laughed until they cried behind one of them. They held their bobbing bellies.