Her Amish Child. Lenora Worth
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A girl.
A very upset and wailing baby girl.
Grabbing up the basket, Raesha spoke softly to the baby. “Shh, now. Let’s get you inside and see what we have to feed you.”
What did they have? Goat’s milk. Cow’s milk, but no mother’s milk. What was she to do? Naomi would know.
Telling herself to stay calm, Raesha lifted up a prayer for help. Then she glanced around, searching for whoever might have left the babe at her door.
But the sunset had changed to dusk and all she saw was the last shifting shadows of the day as darkness settled over the field and valleys of Campton Creek.
Who had abandoned this child?
* * *
Please take care of my little girl. I’m sorry but I am not able to do so at this time. Her name is Dinah and I was once Amish.
Naomi squinted down at the kicking baby and then laid the note they’d found inside the basket on the kitchen counter. “I’m verhuddelt.”
“I’m confused, too,” Raesha replied as she changed the little girl’s soiled clothing, glad they had a few baby gowns and such stocked in the shop and some leftover clothing from the comings and goings of relatives. Thankfully, she had found a supply of commercial formula inside the basket, along with a few disposable diapers and some clothing.
They’d warmed a few ounces of the formula and fed it to her after sterilizing a glass baby bottle Naomi had found in the pantry, hoping that would quiet her until they could figure a proper diet.
“Who would abandon a baby?” Raesha asked in between cooing and talking to the tiny infant. “Such a poignant plea in that note.”
“And who would leave the babe with us?” Naomi replied, her once-blue eyes now blighted with old age, her face wrinkled but beautiful still. “Do you think she could belong to a relative? We have sheltered so many here.”
“I do not know,” Raesha replied, her heart already in love with the darling little girl. “She did say she was once Amish. Does that mean she is never coming back?”
Naomi did a thorough once-over of the kicking baby. “The note gave that indication. But this child doesn’t look like any of our relatives.”
The child had bright hazel eyes and chestnut curls. Raesha checked her over, too. “She looks to be around three or four months, ja?”
“’Spect so,” Naomi said, a soft smile on her face. “She is pretty. Seems healthy and she did come with a few supplies, but I still cannot understand.”
“God’s will,” Raesha said, thinking they could easily take care of this bobbeli.
“Or someone’s free will,” Naomi replied, her eyes full of concern. “We need to report this to the bishop.”
“First thing tomorrow,” Raesha said, her heart already breaking.
Of course, they’d keep the baby within the community if she’d truly come from an Amish mother. The Amish did not always bring in Englisch authorities for such things. Someone had left her here for a reason, though. It would be a shame to let this precious child go back out there to someone who didn’t want her or to strangers who might not treat her kindly.
“I think her mamm left her with us because she wants her to be raised Amish.”
“We will pray on this and do what we must in the morning,” Naomi said, her tone calm and firm. “For now, little Dinah, you are safe.”
Raesha nodded. “Ja, you are right. I worry about the mother but we will pray for her, too.” She smiled down at the pretty little girl. “Your mamm might come back one day.”
Naomi patted her hand and then Raesha finished bathing and dressing the baby. Soon after she gave little Dinah the rest of the bottle of formula, the child calmed, her eyes drooping in a drowsy dance, the long lashes fluttering like tiny butterfly wings.
“I’ll sit with her,” Raesha said. “Once she’s asleep, I’ll take the basket into my room in case she wakes.”
“I’ll heat up the stew we had left from yesterday,” Naomi replied. “You’ll need nourishment.”
“What will we do if someone comes for her?” Raesha asked, her heart clenching, her mind whirling with images she couldn’t hold.
Naomi laughed. “We’ve had a lot of experience in dealing with children, ’member? Some would say we are akin to the foster parents who do the same in the Englisch world. Maybe that will work in our favor, ja?”
Raesha’s heart filled with a new hope. They did have experience and the Amish way was different from the Englisch way. Maybe they could keep this little one a few days longer. Or weeks even. But if the mother gained remorse and returned, they’d have no choice but to let her take the baby. If she would be capable, of course.
“We could have helped the woman if she’d only asked,” she said.
“We will do what we can for this one,” Naomi said, always relying on the Lord for her strength.
It would be hard to let this precious one go but Raesha knew it was out of her hands. God would give them the answers they needed.
And she’d have to accept that and stay content.
* * *
Two days later, Josiah Fisher stared into the early morning sun and wished he could turn back time. But time wasn’t his to hold or change. All things in God’s time.
He had work to do. He’d arrived in Campton Creek late last night and found a room at a nearby inn but he had checked out early to come here. Now he stood surveying the homestead his family still owned. It was his land now and he planned to fix it up to either stay here and work the land or sell it and go back to Ohio. Most likely the last choice.
Unless...he could find his missing sister. He hoped he’d hear soon from the private investigator he’d hired. He had told the man he was returning to Campton Creek.
Now he wondered if that decision had been wise, but Josie had been seen in this area. And it was time to face his past.
The neglected property looked sad and forlorn next to the big Bawell acreage just across the small shallow stream that trickled down from the big creek. He’d have to survey the burned-out barn and decide how to renovate it and the part of the main house that had also caught fire, but first he needed to alert the neighbors and introduce himself. Two women living alone would wonder who he was and what was going on.
Besides, he hoped to bargain with them about possibly renting some of their equipment. The Amish innkeepers had told him two widows lived on the big place and rented out equipment and such to bring in funding. Josiah counted that tidbit as a blessing.
Turning away from the memories of how his parents had perished in the barn fire that had jumped to the main house, he was glad the local volunteer fire department had managed to save most of the house.
But not the barn. His father had run in to save the animals and his mother had run inside to save her husband.
Or so that was the story he’d heard.
He walked the perimeters of the gutted, jagged building, amazed to see the pink running roses his mother had loved still growing against what was left of the barn.
Placing his hat firmly back on his shaggy hair, Josiah hurried toward the small wooden bridge someone had built over the meandering stream and crossed the pasture toward the Bawell house. Taking in deep breaths of the crisp early autumn air, he hoped coming back to Campton Creek had been the right thing to do. He wanted to start fresh, but he couldn’t do that in the place where he and his sister had been born and raised. Better to fix the place up and sell it so he could finally be free.
Soon he was on the big wraparound porch, the carpenter