Promise to Cherish (37 page)

“The best thing I can do right now is refuse to take your son. He’s yours.”

Christine’s arms wrapped around him and her weeping turned from sorrow and pain to the freedom of loving the innocence she held. His eyes were squinty and his lips were full and pink. He had a head full of chestnut-brown hair and the roundest face she’d ever seen. He was hers. God was not punishing her, but rewarding her with a beautiful son. He had been there all the while. God had always cherished her as His own. She wept, chose to let go of her shame, and keep her child.

“Peter Nathaniel,” she said after a few moments. “Your name is Peter Nathaniel after your two heroic uncles.”

He let out a loud cry and the ladies all giggled. How was it possible the circumstances that caused the greatest pain suddenly were worth every moment of it? But how would she do this? How would she manage?

“
Tuesday’s child is full of grace
,” Christine whispered the line of poetry to her son.

Annie helped her nurse for the first time and after he was finished gave her a quick lesson on burping and diapering. She’d done little with babies until now, but everything came to her as naturally as any mother would pray for.

“
Kann Eli nah kumma?
” Sylvia asked if Eli could come in.

Christine nodded. She wanted Eli to come in. Baby Peter was sleeping, heavy in her arms, and she couldn’t believe that he was hers. How could she ever have thought to give him up? Tears hovered inside her eyes when she heard a light knock against the doorframe.

Eli filled the doorframe when he walked in. To look at him
one would’ve thought that he’d gone through the labor instead of her.

“You look terrible,” she said to him.

“I was so scared for you, Christine,” he said, kneeling next to her bed. His eyes filled with love and longing.

“Women have babies every day.”

“You’re not just any woman.” He covered her hand with his.

Christine took in a deep breath but didn’t respond to him. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

“Meet Peter Nathaniel.”

Eli smiled. He looked at the baby then back at her. “Your brothers.”

She nodded.

“Can I hold him?”

“I don’t know if I can let him go, but I want you to hold him. You’ve done so much for me—for us.” She handed him over to Eli and he pulled up a chair to sit on as he held the baby.

“He’s beautiful, Christine,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Peter. He began to sing. “
Homleh moo moo moo, shippleh bah bah bah . . .
”

Her baby fell into slumber listening to a silly lullaby about barnyard animals.

“I can understand most of what you are all saying,” she admitted. “I think I have for a while, only I didn’t realize it.”

“What?”

“When you carried me here I realized I could understand what you were saying. Not every word, but enough to know what was being said.”

He looked back down at the baby and rocked gently, smiling.

“You heard me then—understood what I said?”

“When you were praying?”

He didn’t look at her but nodded.

“I did.”

“I meant every word of it and I want to be your husband and Peter’s father.”

“Eli,” she breathed his name. “We’ve been through this. I won’t let you leave.”

“Why don’t you stay instead?”

“Me—be Amish?” She imagined it. No electricity for the rest of her life. Outhouses. No cars. No jewelry. No makeup. Plain dresses and hair pulled back under a covering. “Eli, I can’t. This isn’t my real life.”

Eli handed Peter back to Christine.

“If this isn’t your real life, Christine, what is?” he whispered to her gently with his hand on hers, then he walked out of the room.

CHAPTER 31

I
t was a mild September day. Christine stood at the bus station doing her best to shield three-week-old Peter from the exhaust. The sidewalk below her feet had brush marks where it had recently been swept. The waning summer sun hung high in the sky, not hot, but somehow she was still sweating beneath her blue dress, that while awkwardly outdated for the world, it was too modern for her life in Sunrise.

She shifted Peter in her arms and checked her hair again with the palm of her hand. She wasn’t wearing a hat. On an important day like today, she should’ve worn a hat. Her new responsibilities as a mother, however, had caused her to be distracted. The hat had been left behind. Her purse was hanging on her arm and feeling heavier by the moment. She eyeballed the wooden bench against the brick building but there was a young family sitting on most of it. A perfect
English
family—something she’d never have.

Christine looked at the bus ahead of her. It wasn’t the right one. There was one up ahead, heading into the station. She moved onto her tiptoes as if to try to see farther. Its flat nose was dusty when it stopped a bus length away.

“The bus should be arriving shortly.” Eli walked up next to her.

“I think that’s it.” She pointed.

“Are you ready?” Eli swallowed hard.

“I’m not sure it was altogether a good idea that you come with us.” Eli had spent time with Peter daily, but didn’t talk much to Christine. She’d hurt him by turning down his marriage proposal, but how could he expect her to convert and be Amish?

“I didn’t want you to come alone. That didn’t seem right either.”

“I had the driver—there she is.” She wanted to run, but she was holding Peter. Carefully handing him to Eli, she turned back and let her feet carry her quickly into her mother’s arms.

“Oh, my darling, Christy.” Her mother’s voice was gentle and sweet and like a medicine to Christine’s soul. “Let me look at you.”

Margie took her daughter’s hand and turned her about.

“You should be wearing a hat, but other than that I can’t believe it’s only been three weeks. Look at you, my girl.”

“Mother, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here.” The two looked more seriously at each other. There was so much she could say, but it wasn’t the time or place. “Come, meet your grandson.”

Her mother bit her lower lip and inhaled deeply. Christine took her arm and pulled her toward Eli. Eli was wearing a new, deep teal shirt that Christine had sewn—another insistence from Annie. His black hat set off his blond hair that had grown as long as the other Amish men’s. His light beard set off his tanned skin. He was as handsome as any man ever was. Though she’d refused to marry him, she still cared. She couldn’t have him excommunicated from his family and it didn’t make sense for her to become Amish either. It was one thing living among them for six months, it was entirely different leaving her real life forever.

“Mother, this is Eli Brenneman.”

She looked up at him with a smile. “I would shake your hand but I see you’re holding my grandson.”

“Yes, Mrs. Freeman, your grandson.” Eli leaned forward and laid the babe in his grandmother’s arms. His wide blue eyes looked from Eli’s face to the new woman smiling at him.

“Peter Nathaniel. Oh, my dear boy. It’s like Peter and Nathaniel aren’t as gone as they were before, isn’t it?”

“He has Nathaniel’s cleft chin,” Christine said.

“And yours,” her mother interjected. “Peter’s lips. And he’s already smiling. You smiled the first week you were born. You were my most smiley baby.”

They were silent as they watched Peter move around. He found his mother’s face and smiled.

“But still, he looks like Jack,” Margie whispered.

Christine stiffened.

Nothing more was said as they walked to their hired driver and rode back to the cottage. After some tea with Annie and after Peter was fed, diapered, and laid down to sleep, Christine walked Margie to meet Sylvia and Sarah and then around the farm. As they stood against the fence, the black and white cows moved around the field gracefully in the light breeze. Eli was ahead rebuilding the lean-to that had blown over from a recent storm.

“That Aunt Annie
is as sweet as pie, isn’t she? What is it that she calls you?”

Christine smiled. “She calls me
mei maedle
. It means
my girl
.”

“Oh,” was all her mother said for several long moments. Christine looked over to find tears trailing down her mother’s face. Her mother had this amazing way of crying and looking beautiful. Her skin stayed as porcelain as always, and her eyes didn’t grow bloodshot. It was just such an honest emotion.

“Mother? Annie’s very special to me, but she’s not you.” Christine took her mother’s hand.

“I wrote Jack,” her mother looked off into the field as she spoke. “He needs to see his son.”

“Why?” Her exacerbation surfaced.

“Maybe he’ll change his mind once he sees Peter.”

“But I don’t love him, and he rejected me. Remember?”

“Peter is his son,” her mother insisted. “If he doesn’t want to see him, then that door will be closed, but if he does, you need to let him.”

A day later Margie brought up the topic of Christine’s future again.

“Aunt Annie,” Margie began, having taken to Annie as quickly as Christine had, “don’t you think Christy would be better off marrying Peter’s father?”

“Mother,” Christine spoke harshly.

“It’s all right.” Annie lifted the palm of her hand gently toward Christine. “I’d like to share my thoughts.”

Margie nodded at Christine.

“I believe God has it all in His hands. We don’t know what will happen next week or tomorrow or tonight even. Just trust, Christine. That’s all I can say. Trust.”

“But she cannot live like this,” Margie exclaimed. “It’s not proper.”

The rest of the supper was eaten in silence, and for the next few days Christine and Margie chose to forget the uncomfortable conversation and live in the world of accepting what they could not change. Margie cried when she kissed Christine and Peter good-bye. Christine stayed next to the bus until it pushed out of the station. She waved until she couldn’t see it any longer. The relief of reconciliation with her mother was layered with the dread of not knowing what her future held.

Peter was a month old when Christine saw a familiar black Cadillac parked at the farm. Jack?

Though part of her wished she could run away, she strode through the field as if Peter’s life depended on it. As she rounded the side of the house, completely out of breath, she saw him on the front porch with Sarah. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and even from the short distance she could see he was impeccably manicured; his hair slicked and dark. He hadn’t noticed her yet and the smile on his face as he spoke with Sarah appeared disingenuous: it was too large; his teeth sparkled in the September sun.

Christine turned to look past the field toward the cottage. Though she couldn’t see it closely, she was sure that the lilting breeze pulled the blue curtain out from the inside. Peter was inside their room sleeping. Her imagination went wild and imagined Jack running in, grabbing him, and taking him away. Her breathing increased.

“Christine?” She turned toward Jack’s voice. Their eyes met and Christine’s hands went to her heart. She didn’t want to see him, but there was still something that drew her to him. “There you are, my darling.”

“Would you excuse me, please,” he said with a nod toward Sarah and stepped across the porch and down the steps.

Sarah’s and Christine’s eyes met. Christine’s breath continued to be labored after running over and from adrenaline and with Sarah’s eyes on her, defeat plunged into her heart. Sarah broke their trance on each other with a glance toward Jack before walking into her home.

Jack reached Christine and stood incredibly close. His gaze was too intense. Goose bumps formed on her arm.

“Your mother told me. I decided I should come.” Jack smiled as he rocked on his feet nervously.

Christine’s heart pounded.

Over Jack’s shoulder she saw Eli in the distance. The milk truck was here to swap out the empty milk cans from the pre
vious day for the full ones from today.
Look over here, Eli
. The breeze blew and his face turned. Their eyes, even with the space between them, met. Christine could see his face in a matter of moments turn from confusion to recognition. Like a strong wind, he ran toward her.

“Christine.” Eli’s voice alone was a refuge. Their eyes joined for a long moment.

“What are you doing here, Jack?” Christine found her voice.

“I came to see my son.” His voice softened to Christine’s great surprise. “I probably should’ve let you know I was coming.”

Christine looked from Jack to Eli, whose eyes were like flints. Her mind spun between ordering Jack away and understanding that he was Peter’s father and surely that meant he had the right to see his son. Wasn’t that how it should be? But his manners and his composure—they were different.

“Come with me,” she said quietly.

Jack walked smartly just behind her and Eli came in step with her.

“No, Eli,” she said then looked at Jack, then back to Eli. She patted Eli’s arm and then began walking again with Jack at her side. When his hand went to her elbow it was like a hot coal on her skin. She was too stunned about it all to pull away.