Patricia Davids - A Home for Hannah

He cleared his throat. “I was referring to your red hair, Miriam. It’s also not politically correct to call an officer of the law a moose.”

Turning away, he banged his head on a kerosene lamp hanging from one of the rafters.

She slipped past him on the narrow aisle. “If the shoe fits... I think the baby stuff is down here.”

Beneath the dim light coming through a dormer window, she spied a cradle piled high with old clothes and blankets. A wide-rimmed black hat and a straw hat sat atop the pile. She knew before she touched them that they had belonged to Mark.

Tenderly Miriam lifted the felt hat and covered her face with it. She breathed deeply, but no trace of her brother’s scent remained. A band tightened around

her heart until she thought it might break in two.

“Are they Mark’s things?” Nick asked behind her.

She could only nod. Even after all these years, it was hard to accept that she would never see him again. He’d been her other half. She was incomplete without him. She could hear his laughter and see his face as clearly as if he were standing in front of her.

Nick lifted a stack of boxes and papers from the seat of a bentwood rocker and set them on the floor. He took the clothing and blankets from the cradle and laid them aside, leaving the flashlight on top of the pile. Picking up the cradle, he said, “I’ll take this down. You can bring the baby clothes when you find them.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. When he was gone, she sat in the rocker and crushed her brother’s hat against her chest as hot tears streamed down her face.

* * *

Nick descended the attic steps with the sound of Miriam’s weeping ringing in his ears. He wanted to help, but he knew anything he offered in the way of comfort would be rejected. It hurt to know she still grieved so deeply.

After making his way down to the kitchen, he found Ada and the baby both asleep in the rocker. The bottle in Ada’s slack hand dripped formula onto the floor. When he took it from her, she jerked awake, startling the baby who whimpered.

“Habe ich schlafe?” Ada peered at Nick with confusion in her eyes.

“Ja, Frau Kauffman. You fell asleep,” he answered softly.

Childhood summers spent with his Amish grandmother and cousins had given him a decent understanding of the Amish language. While it was referred to as Pennsylvania Dutch, it was really Pennsylvania Deitsh, an old German dialect blended with English words into a language that was unique.

Ada sat up straighter and adjusted the baby in her arms. “Don’t tell Miriam. She already worries about me too much.”

“It will be our secret. Where shall I put the cradle?”

“Here beside me. I sleep downstairs now. Miriam insists on it. She doesn’t want me climbing the stairs.”

Taking a dishcloth from the sink, Nick mopped up the spilled milk. “I imagine Miriam gets her way.”

Ada looked toward the stairs, then leaned closer to Nick. “Not so much. If I get well, she will leave again. I may be sickly all year.”

He grinned. “That will be our secret, too.”

“Goot. Where is she?”

Nick’s grin faded. “She’s still in the attic. She found some of Mark’s things. I don’t think she was ready for that.”

“My poor daughter. She cannot see the blessings God has given her. She only sees what she has lost.”

“She needs more time, that’s all.”

“No, it is more than that. I miss my son every day. I miss my husband, God rest his soul. I mourn them, but in God’s own time I will join them in heaven. Until then, He has much for me to do here on earth. It will soon be time to plant my garden. With the weather getting nicer, I must visit the sick and the elderly. I have baking to do for the socials and weddings and I must pray for my child.”

“I’ll pray for her, too.”

“Bless you, Nicolas. I accept that Miriam will never return to our Amish ways, but my child carries a heavy burden in her heart. One she refuses to share. I pray every day that she finds peace.”

Ada struggled to her feet. Nick gave her a hand. “Danki. Take the baby, Nicolas.”

“Sure.” He accepted the tiny bundle from her amazed at how light the child was and how nice it felt to hold her.

“Sit. This cradle needs a good cleaning after more than twenty years in the attic. I’m so happy it is being put to use. It has been empty much too long.”

Nick sat in the rocker and gave himself over to enjoying the moment. He hoped one day to have children of his own. Finding a woman to be their mother was proving to be his stumbling block.

He remembered how badly his mother had handled being a cop’s wife. Even though he’d chosen small-town law enforcement over the big-city life his father craved, Nick wasn’t eager to put a family into the kind of pressure cooker he knew his job could create. It would take a very special woman to share his life. Once, he’d hoped it would be Miriam, but that dream had died even before the wreck took her brother’s life.

Chapter Three

Miriam had recovered her composure by the time she came downstairs. She saw Nick rocking Hannah while her mother was busy wiping down the dusty cradle. Miriam’s eyes were drawn to the note still sitting in the plastic bag on the table. Somewhere, a young woman needed her help. She would concentrate on that and not on her tumultuous emotion.

She said, “It sounds like Hannah’s mother is in an abusive relationship.”

Nick said, “We’re only guessing.”

Miriam bit the corner of her lip. A young mother was having the worst day of her life. She’d done the unthinkable. She’d left her newborn baby on a doorstep. In her young eyes, the situation must have seemed desperate and hopeless. Miriam’s heart went out to her. At least, she had chosen to give her child a chance. It was more than others had done.

Nick said, “The note raises questions in my mind about the mother’s emotional state and about her situation but doesn’t spell out a crime. I’ll have it checked for fingerprints, but that’s a long shot. If the person who wrote the note is Amish, I doubt we’ll have his or her prints on file.”

Miriam held up the bag to study the handwriting. “You think the father may have written this?”

“I think our mother had help. Do you believe a new mother could harness up the horse and buggy drive out here after she’d just given birth? That’s one hardy woman if she did it alone.”

Nodding, Miriam said, “You have a point.”

Ada finished cleaning the cradle and covered the mattress with a clean quilt. “Amish women are tough. I know several who have had their child alone, and then driven to the home of a relative.”

Nick handed the baby to Ada. “That may be, but I have to consider the possibility that she had help. Miriam, did you see which way the buggy turned after it reached the highway?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t.” Miriam racked her memory of those few moments when the buggy had been in sight for something—anything that would help, but came up empty.

Somewhere a young woman needed help or she wouldn’t have taken the drastic measure of leaving her baby on a doorstep. Miriam had spent too many hours with confused, frightened Amish teenagers not to know the signs. This was a deep cry for help. She had turned her back on one desperate mother years ago. Nothing but bitter ashes had flowed from that decision. She would not do it again. This time, she had to help.

Turning around, she grabbed her denim jacket from the peg by the door. “The lane is still muddy from the rain yesterday. We might be able to tell which way they turned.”

“Good thinking.” Nick pulled the door open and held it for her. Bella was waiting for them outside. She jumped up to greet Nick with muddy paws. He pushed her aside with a stern, “No.” Bella complied.