Minding The Amish Baby. Carrie Lighte
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but I raised my sister from the time she was a toddler.”
“That’s not the same as caring for an infant this young.”
Turner knew Tessa was right, but what else could he do? He felt duty bound to honor Jacqueline’s request not to tell anyone about Mercy, so asking his sisters-in-law for help was out of the question. “That’s my private matter to manage and I’d like it to stay that way,” he said pointedly, turning toward the door.
“Wait,” Tessa said. Surprised by the weight of her hand on his arm and the authority in her voice, Turner pivoted to look at her. The skin above the bridge of her nose was dented with deep lines, and worry narrowed her big brown eyes. “Mercy’s sleeping now, but that won’t last long. Joseph has temporarily reduced my hours at the shop, so I just work Saturdays now. If you’d like, I’m free to watch the baby during the day while you’re at work.”
Astonished by Tessa’s willingness to help, Turner wondered if the solution could be that simple. From Tessa’s brief interaction with Mercy, Turner could see how capable she was, but could he trust her to keep the situation a secret? Then he realized since Tessa already knew about the baby’s arrival, he’d have to trust her to be discreet whether or not she cared for Mercy. It would be imprudent to refuse her offer.
“That would be wunderbaar,” he admitted, “provided you don’t tell anyone. I mean it, not a soul. I’ll pay you, of course.”
Tessa’s eyelids suddenly snapped upward like a window shade as she took a step backward. “You needn’t bribe me to keep this a secret, Turner!”
“Neh, I didn’t mean I’d pay you for your discretion—I meant I’d pay you for your time.”
Tessa softened her stance and reached to fiddle with Mercy’s quilt. “That’s not necessary. We’re family in Christ, and you’ve been an excellent landlord to Katie and me. This is the least I can do in return. Besides, I want to help. Really.”
Turner’s ears warmed at her compliment. “And I very much want your help,” he said. “But I insist on compensating you for it.”
“Perhaps... Perhaps we could work out an arrangement with the rent? Since I won’t be earning an income at Schrock’s for several weeks—”
“I’ll waive the next few months of rent entirely,” Turner interrupted. “Now, I’d better get Mercy to the house before she wakes again.”
“Gut nacht, Turner.” Tessa held the door for him, adding, “Don’t worry. It’s only for a short time. Everything will be all right.”
“Jah, I’m sure it will,” he agreed. But as he trudged up the lane, he didn’t feel at all confident about what the next few weeks would bring.
Tessa lay in bed on her back with her eyes wide open. Who was Lynne? “Your Lynne” the woman had written. Usually that term was used to imply a close connection. Was Lynne a relative? A cousin, maybe? Since the Amish wrote letters in Englisch instead of in their spoken Deitsch dialect, Tessa couldn’t discern from the note whether its author was Amish or not.
She shook her head, trying to stop the ideas that were filling her imagination, but it was no use. She remembered all the times she and Katie noticed Turner leaving on Saturday evenings, either by buggy or in a taxi. She knew it was wrong to speculate about his comings and goings and even worse to jump to unsavory conclusions about his actions and character. Turner King is nothing if not upright, she thought, forcing herself to consider the baby instead.
With her pudgy arms and cheeks and her pink skin, Mercy had obviously been well nurtured. At least, she was until her mother abandoned her. Tessa sighed. She supposed she couldn’t really say the baby was abandoned. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d been left with a complete stranger. Turner knew who the mother was, even if he wouldn’t say. Tessa could only guess why the mother didn’t speak to him directly about caring for the baby instead of just leaving Mercy on the doorstep. Maybe she truly was in a rush, but it seemed if she legitimately had an emergency, she would have called upon other relatives or friends who were better prepared to look after a baby than Turner was. And why did she insist on secrecy, even from Turner’s brothers?
The entire situation didn’t make any sense, but one thing was clear to Tessa: upon reading the note, Turner’s expression changed from one of irritability at being woken late at night to a wide-eyed vulnerability that made him appear almost like a baby himself. Realizing stoic, self-sufficient Turner King was shaken and burdened filled Tessa with a sense of compassion and she was eager to help. Yes, she’d taken offense at his repeated admonishments not to tell anyone about the baby, but his distrust was a small affront compared with waiving her rent for the next few months as payment for caring for Mercy.
Granted, being a nanny wasn’t her favorite job, but it was one she had a lot of experience doing. As a teenager the only way she could earn an income had been to mind children. In her community, when an Amish woman had a baby, the family often hired a girl like Tessa to watch the other offspring, so the mother could devote herself to the newborn. While Tessa had doted on the children under her care, she had wished there were other opportunities in Shady Valley for her to earn money. It was expected that most Amish women would marry and give up their jobs when they began families of their own. Even at a young age, Tessa realized she’d probably have her whole lifetime to keep house and care for children, so she’d wanted to experience a different kind of responsibility while she still could. That was why she was so attached to her job at Schrock’s.
Yet right before she fell asleep, Tessa realized that although she wouldn’t have chosen to be laid off from the shop any more than she’d wish an emergency on Mercy’s mother, the timing was mutually beneficial for both her and Turner. It was so uncanny Tessa knew it had to be the Lord’s answer to her prayers. He had delivered the alternate solution she’d just requested and she was grateful for it.
When she woke before daybreak, Tessa brewed a pot of coffee and then peeked out the back window of Katie’s former bedroom. From this vantage point, she could see a light burning at the house on the hill. Were Turner and the baby awake already? Had they ever gone to sleep the night before? Figuring Turner wouldn’t refuse a cup of coffee, she dressed, donned her winter cloak and bonnet, and trudged up the lane carrying the full pot. She heard Mercy’s cries before she climbed the porch steps.
“Guder mariye,” she said when Turner opened the door. He looked as if he’d spent the night chasing a runaway goat: his posture was crooked, his clothes were rumpled and his eyelids were sagging. “I know it’s early but I thought you could use a cup of kaffi.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Motioning toward Mercy, he confessed, “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’ve fed her, burped her and changed her windle, but she keeps screaming.”
“She probably misses her mamm,” Tessa said, setting the coffeepot on the table so she could receive the red-faced baby from Turner’s arms. Rather, from his arm. Tessa noticed Mercy was dwarfed by Turner’s size; he could have easily balanced her with just one hand. Yet he was every bit as gentle as he was adroit, and as he carefully passed the screeching baby to Tessa, she was aware of the way his arm softly brushed against hers.
While Turner filled two mismatched mugs with coffee, Tessa cooed, “Guder mariye, Mercy. What’s all this fussing about, hmm? How can we make you more comfortable?”
Mercy’s wailing continued as Tessa held the baby close to her chest. She asked Turner to place a quilt on the table and then she set the baby down and took notice of her clothes. Mercy’s diaper was lopsided and gaping and her legs were cold and damp. “I think she needs a bath,” Tessa suggested. “And I’ll show you how to change her windle so they’re secure.”
“I