The beginning, p.20
The Beginning, page 20
Later, settling in to the spare room to talk with Mamma privately, Britta wondered if this afternoon might be a good time to share about her recent visit to Ella Mae’s. Mamma had already been resting awhile in her large but sparsely furnished room. Since Mamma’s arrival, Allen had built in a closet with shelves to keep everything organized. He had done this with all of the bedrooms, including the largest one, just up the stairs, which was his and Sarah’s own.
Thankfully, Mamma’s room was far removed from the kitchen, so she had a private retreat and didn’t have to climb any stairs, either, should she become ill again. Something that’s not possible at home, Britta thought. And for that reason alone, Mamma is better off staying here.
“Seems you’re thinkin’ hard on something,” Mamma observed as she sat in the lone chair in the corner of her bedroom.
“Oh, just that this room’s so quiet and separate from the other living spaces. And it’s on the main floor, too. Makes things nice for ya.”
“’Tis a blessing.”
“I noticed Ella Mae’s Dawdi Haus doesn’t have any stairs, either,” Britta said, not thinking.
Mamma’s eyes widened. “Oh, have ya visited her lately?”
Britta nodded. “I was feelin’ upset . . . well, frustrated. But she helped me understand it wasn’t a sin to feel that way, unless I let it turn to anger—which I certainly didn’t want.”
Mamma folded her hands and listened. Then, looking more serious, she asked, “Did ya bring up your adoption to her, maybe?”
Britta grimaced. “S’pose I did.”
Mamma gave her a reassuring smile. “Susie mentioned in a letter that you hadn’t been yourself lately. And I know there’ve been times in the past when you’ve sought out different folk, tryin’ to find out what they might know.” She paused, a thoughtful expression on her dear face. “But what if we talk some right now . . . how’d that be?”
Hope rose in Britta. “Oh, Mamma, I’d love that. But I don’t want it to upset ya, seein’ how you’re feeling better than you have in a long time.”
“There are still days when my asthma pulls me under the weather, but for the most part, I’m doin’ all right. I do miss you and Susie and Polly terribly, though.” She sighed. “It hasn’t been the easiest thing to relocate like this, even for a while.” Her eyes caught Britta’s and held them. “I’ve been thinking ’bout your eagerness to know more about your birth mother, yet I’m struggling with it, too.”
“Struggling?”
“Jah, there are some tetchy things about it, which is why, for all these years, I haven’t been sure if I should even share everything. Honestly, I haven’t wanted to . . . haven’t thought it too wise.” She was quiet for a moment, looking out the window. “Some things are best left unsaid.”
Now Britta was more curious than ever, yet she wouldn’t press, trying to trust Mamma’s judgment.
“I wanted to protect ya, dear—wanted to tell you just enough to satisfy your curiosity. . . .”
“So that must be why ya want me to be older.”
Mamma nodded. “Still, I don’t want ya miserable, wonderin’.” She glanced heavenward. “I’ve been praying and ponderin’ how I should share the things I know, not withholding anything.”
Britta worried suddenly. Was she actually ready for whatever Mamma had to say, given how stressed and on edge she seemed? “Are ya sure?” Britta surprised herself by asking.
“Well, you’re here now. It’s better to talk this over in person than by letter or phone later on.” Her mother clutched the arms of her chair. “Jah, I daresay this might be the moment to tell how you came to be an Amish girl livin’ in Hickory Hollow. . . .”
———
It was July 12, one year after Eli’s death, and Aquilla’s young daughter, Susie, was spending the morning with Liz Ebersol, next farm over, when a knock came at the front door. Since it was rare anyone approached that door, Aquilla hurried to open it, and there stood a beautiful auburn-haired woman with dark eyes. The lovely young woman, scarcely out of her teens, was cradling an infant and asked apologetically if Aquilla might have a few moments to spare.
Such a tiny baby, thought Aquilla, opening the screen door and glimpsing a tan car parked in the driveway. She asked the woman to have a seat on the soft settee and offered some iced meadow tea. Shaking her head, the woman said she couldn’t stay long and glanced down at the sleeping babe in her arms.
Tentative, Aquilla took a seat across the room and wondered what was on the pretty Englischer’s mind.
“I’ve come to confess,” the woman said, looking away as tears sprang to her eyes. “Something I should have done more than a year ago. You see, I committed a terrible crime against you and your family.”
Perplexed, Aquilla sat there, unmoving.
She shook her head and rocked the baby slightly, then continued. “I was drunk out of my mind that day . . . made a wrong turn off Route 340. In the murkiness of the evening—and my own stupor—I swerved when I tried not to hit a young girl walking along the road . . . and hit what I mistakenly thought was an animal.”
Her words penetrated Aquilla’s heart.
“Not until I heard on the radio that an Amish boy had been killed by a hit-and-run driver on Cattail Road did I know . . . I had struck your son.” The young woman reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping, her hand trembling. “This is how I knew where to find you.” Again, the woman’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m here to plead for your forgiveness, even though I know I don’t deserve it.” She broke down weeping.
Aquilla’s hands were so clammy that she clasped them together all the more tightly, as if hanging on to herself was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
“I was so horrified, I checked myself into a rehab in Philly, but I should have turned myself in to the authorities instead.”
Shocked, Aquilla coughed, then managed to find her voice. “Never did I expect to come face-to-face with the person who . . .”
The baby began to stir, and the young woman reached down to touch the infant’s face. “I was such a mess back then. I hadn’t found the Lord yet . . . or, I should say, He hadn’t found me.” She went on to explain that, after months in rehab, where she met a man who said he loved her, she discovered she was pregnant. “By December, I was very much alone again, and so down on my luck. I decided to attend a Christmas Eve service not far from my studio apartment, and a compassionate middle-aged couple there took me under their wing and introduced me to Jesus. Up until my baby was born ten days ago, they’ve been encouraging me along in this new life I’ve embraced . . . ‘discipling me,’ as they say. They urged me to own up to my wrongdoing.”
Aquilla’s pulse was pounding in her head. Yet she knew what she must do. Getting up from her chair, she made her way over to the rocker, pulled it close to where the woman sat with her little one, and sat down. Softly, she said, “Our heavenly Father has already forgiven you . . . so I must do the same.”
Tears began to course down the woman’s face again. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Sounds like I’ll be going away to prison for quite a while.”
Aquilla replied, “Yet God will be with ya, even there.”
“I’ve heard of Bible studies for inmates,” the woman said.
A momentary lull filled the room, and Aquilla looked down at the tiny pink face, still sound asleep. “Who will care for your little one while you serve your time?” she asked.
The woman shook her head, and then her shoulders shook. “No one in my family knows about my baby girl.” She tucked the blanket gently around her sleeping child. “I guess Lancaster Social Services will give her a temporary home.”
Aquilla struggled to keep her tears in check. “Would ya trust me to care for her instead?”
“Oh, Mrs. Mast, I couldn’t—”
“Ach, call me Aquilla.” She touched the young mother’s arm, mentioning that she had done foster care and worked closely with social services in the past. “Your baby will receive all the love I have to give until you return. You have my word on that.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. This is the last thing I expected.” The young woman traced her little one’s cheek, then caressed the downy curls on her head. “She’s all I have left in the world.”
“Aw, but you have our dear Lord Jesus . . . and He’s walkin’ with ya, leading you with tender mercy and love.” Aquilla paused for a moment. “In fact, I believe He’s led you here to me this very day.”
With a kiss on the baby’s forehead and some words murmured softly in her ear, she lifted her child into Aquilla’s arms. “How can I ever repay you for this kindness? It might be two years or more before I’m a free woman.”
“Well then, I’ll give your little girl a loving home till ya return for her. I promise to treat her like my very own.”
“I believe it.” The woman’s face broke into a sweet smile, the first since she’d arrived. “I’m sorry, I never even told you my full name. I’m Kathleen Stratton, and my baby’s name is Britta, same as my middle name.”
Aquilla wondered about the woman’s relatives and the young man who’d fathered little Britta, but the precious bundle in her arms moved ever so gently, and the thought of anyone’s plan to search for this child quickly flitted out of her mind.
Kathleen must have sensed her concern, since she mentioned that the baby’s father had already signed away his rights. “Britta’s all mine.” Here, Kathleen smiled a sad sort of smile and leaned forward to kiss the baby’s tiny forehead once more, her gaze lingering on the darling infant.
After Kathleen’s reluctant departure—leaving her newborn and a diaper bag with a stranger—Aquilla went to sit in her comfortable chair and looked down into the eyes of the baby waking in her arms. She placed her pointer finger in the miniature hand and felt the strength of the little one’s grasp. “Your Mamma will be thinking ’bout ya every minute she’s away . . . and then, one day, she’ll come for ya, I’m sure of it.” And as she talked softly in Deitsch, she realized that this dear one would learn to speak it, too . . . and just how would she understand her mother when she returned?
We’ll cross that bridge later, Aquilla decided, her heartstrings tightening around the helpless babe gazing up at her.
CHAPTER
34
Britta couldn’t move, she was so stunned. “My birth mother drove the car . . . that killed Eli?” she murmured.
Mamma rose to go to her and clasped her hand in both of hers. “This is the reason I hesitated to tell you the details.” Her voice was gentle, and she coughed a little, like she was holding back tears.
I never should’ve asked, thought Britta as Mamma sat beside her on the bed.
Then Mamma raised Britta’s hand to her lips and kissed it.
Feeling numb, Britta said, “Now I understand why you were struggling. I’m sorry I pressed ya so.”
“There were many times I agonized over this moment. . . . It seemed that you wouldn’t have peace unless I told you everything, dear girl.”
Britta let that sink in, realizing she had stirred up that worry.
“And, truth be known, I wondered while I was in the hospital if I would even live to tell ya ’bout your birth mother.”
“You were awful sick,” Britta replied, looking at her with new eyes.
Mamma nodded. “I never would’ve agreed to medical treatment otherwise. But thankfully Allen and Sarah urged me to go.”
“I’m so glad you’re all right now, Mamma.”
Mamma smiled. “The Lord God numbers our days. I can trust Him for what’s best.”
Britta had heard Mamma say this all her life, but hearing it again now made her all the more sympathetic toward her.
They talked further of Kathleen Stratton, and Britta marveled at Mamma’s kindness toward the woman. “I’m so glad she came to me,” Mamma said softly. “The Lord’s plans are perfect . . . always for our gut, remember.”
For Britta, one question still lingered. “So I guess Kathleen Stratton never returned for me, then.”
“Oh, quite the contrary,” Mamma said and began to tell her that story. . . .
———
On an early July day two years after Kathleen Stratton left her baby in Hickory Hollow, a letter arrived in Aquilla’s mailbox, alerting her that Kathleen would be coming to pick up her little girl—she had completed her jail sentence.
Though fighting tremendous sadness, Aquilla had expected this moment. She gathered up all of little Britta’s clothing, including the Amish attire the petite toddler had been wearing—dresses and aprons and little nightclothes Aquilla had lovingly hand sewn.
When Kathleen appeared at the door, she looked thinner, and her lovely hair had grown significantly. There was a joyfulness on her face, though, and her eyes lit up when she saw Britta sitting on the floor playing with her faceless doll, wearing her Sunday best—a pale pink dress, white organdy cape and apron, and a tiny heart-shaped white head covering. Aquilla hoped it was all right to present Britta in church clothes to her mother.
“She’s grown so much!” Kathleen got down on the floor at eye level with Britta, clearly eager to hold her. “She looks so healthy, too.” Kathleen held out her hands to her daughter, who shrank back, frowning and looking up at Aquilla. The young woman momentarily grimaced. “Ah . . . of course. She doesn’t know who I am.”
Despite her own sadness at Britta’s impending departure, Aquilla’s heart ached for Kathleen. “Given time, she’ll bond with ya,” she told the young woman, wondering if she sounded convincing enough.
Shy as she was, tiny Britta got up and went over to Aquilla, wanting her to lift her up, which Aquilla did.
Kathleen continued to sit on the floor cross-legged in her jeans and tennis shoes. “She looks so cute in that outfit. Is that how she usually dresses?”
“Jah, but just for church or special occasions, so she fits in with the People. Usually she wears little aprons that match the color of her dresses. It’s all I know how to sew. Hope that’s okay.”
Kathleen didn’t seem to know what to say.
“I’ll go an’ get her things.” Aquilla excused herself, taking Britta with her to get her favorite blanket.
When she returned with a suitcase, she set it on the floor and put Britta down, wondering if she might warm up to Kathleen a little.
But Britta toddled back over to Aquilla’s chair, carrying her blanket, and curled up in it, starting to cry. “Mamma,” she whimpered. “Mamma . . .”
Still seated on the floor, Kathleen scooted over to her, trying to cajole her, but Britta cried all the more. Perhaps seeing how futile this was becoming, Kathleen left to go out to her car, where she sat for the longest time.
Aquilla looked out the window to check on her and saw her walking up the road now, wearing dark sunglasses under the bright cloudless sky.
The poor woman’s troubled, and no wonder, she thought, holding Britta close in her arms, not knowing what to do.
A half hour later, Kathleen returned and knocked on the front door, the rims of her eyes red. “All this time, I’ve been imagining what my baby’s been up to, looking forward to when I could hold her again and start making a life with her. I should have realized it wouldn’t be that simple.” She sighed and looked away, tears welling up. “You’ve obviously been a great mom to her.”
“Denki,” Aquilla said. “She’s a dear little one to care for.”
Kathleen’s chest rose and fell as emotion seemed to build in her. “And . . . hard as it is, I see now that it would be heartless to take her away. Britta belongs here with you,” she said softly.
Astonished, Aquilla looked over at Britta, contentedly playing with her toys on the floor again. “I love her dearly,” she said, “but she’s your daughter. Are ya sure?”
Wiping tears away, Kathleen said, “Yes, and you can give Britta a more settled life. I truly believe God is prompting me to do this. It’s something I’ve had in the back of my mind for a while now.” She paused. “I just needed to know I wasn’t making a mistake.” She went on to say that she would hire an attorney to draw up the adoption papers and have them sent to Aquilla.
Amazed at the young woman’s willingness to make this sacrifice for her little daughter, Aquilla couldn’t speak for a moment. When she found her voice, she said, “I’ll take gut care of her. I promise.”
“I know you will.” Kathleen nodded, a faint smile on her pretty face. “This is the hardest, yet the best thing I’ve done.” She looked across the room with the saddest eyes. “I’d like to visit her next week, if that’s all right.”
Aquilla agreed. “And there’s still time to change your mind. Maybe till the adoption is final, you’d like to see her?”
Kathleen brightened, her eyes still on Britta. “I would love that.” Then, rising from the settee, she said, “Bye-bye, sweetheart. I’ll see you again soon.” She paused, as if struggling for composure. “I pray you grow up to live for Jesus . . . my little Amish girl.”
Aquilla reached for the young woman and wrapped her arms around her, their tears falling on each other’s shoulders.
———
Britta brushed tears away as she sat on the edge of the bed, listening intently as Mamma shared her long-ago memories. Kathleen said I belong here.
“Are you all right?” Mamma asked, her face registering concern.
She nodded. “It’s hard to understand all of this. And what you did for Kathleen—and for me. I mean, she took Eli’s life, yet you forgave her . . . and were willing to raise me!”
Mamma nodded her head slowly. “Truth be told, it was the beginning of a lasting healing in me.”
Britta considered that, a swirl of emotions fluttering through her. “But I can hardly believe she let you bring me up as your own . . . that she believed God wanted that.”
Mamma remained silent, her face flushed. “I’ve often wondered how I would’ve managed if she’d left with you that day.”
Britta’s heart felt heavy. “But Eli would be alive today if it weren’t for her.”
