Rosanna's Gift

blessings.

Prologue

Rosanna wavered. She wanted to stay right where she was and talk to Henry. Maybe he’d mention something about taking a ride with him if she gave him enough time. But Mamm needed her. "I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now, Henry. I need to help my mamm."

"With that Englischer?" Henry had stopped his horse near the back door of the big two-story house and stood beside his gray buggy.

You saw the girl who came to our door?

"Jah, I was just driving up. You have to help with her?"

From the way things looked, she definitely needs our help.

"Why doesn’t your mamm just call the rescue squad and send her to the Englischers’ hospital?"

Rosanna stomped her black athletic shoe–clad foot and looked Henry straight in his small brown eyes. Since he stood only a hair’s breadth taller, looking him in the eye was not a challenge. "Henry Zook, you know gut and well Mamm would never turn away a woman who needed her help—Amish or Englisch. What’s gotten into you?"

Nothing. It just seems to me that girl should seek out help from her own kind.

Rosanna’s exasperation mounted. She’d heard from her older bruders that Henry wanted little or nothing to do with Englischers. That she could accept, she supposed, but not his lack of compassion for a fellow human being in need. Disappointment crept in with the exasperation. This was the fellow she wanted to step out with?

She’d secretly watched him at school and had felt a huge void when he finished two years before she did. At the young people’s singings, she stole glances at him and, once or twice, caught him looking back. That proved he was interested, didn’t it? But this attitude was a little hard to swallow. Maybe Henry was just having a bad day. Everyone had one of those days now and again.

Henry dropped his gaze under Rosanna’s scrutiny and stared at his toe drawing circles in the dirt. "Do you always help your mamm with, uh, with these things?"

Of course. I love helping her with—

I see.

Henry had interrupted her before she could complete her sentence. Honestly! Childbirth was a natural occurrence, a blessed event. Men could be so squeamish about such things.

Rosanna! Mamm’s voice carried right outside to where Rosanna was wasting time with Henry. That’s what Mamm would think she was doing. How many times had Mamm asked her why she wasted her time and dreams on Henry Zook? I have to go, Henry. Maybe we can talk later? Could her hint be any more blatant? If he didn’t catch on that she wanted to step out with him, then that head under the mud brown hair must be pretty dense.

Henry shrugged. "I really came here to see your bruder Tobias anyway."

Rosanna flounced off without a backward glance and kicked the heavy wood door closed behind her. That was not the response she’d hoped for.

All thoughts of Henry and everything else flew from Rosanna’s mind as she and Mamm worked in sync to help this stranger who had shown up at their door ready to bring her infant into the world. The air outside may have had a bite, but here in the spare bedroom that used to belong to her two married bruders, Rosanna fanned the girl on the bed. She mopped the girl’s brow in between contractions and encouraged her to push when Mamm deemed it time to do so. The thin wisp of a girl nearly crushed the bones in Rosanna’s hands but never cried out. In fact, she didn’t speak at all until after the birth.

Chapter One

She’s yours. The voice came out as a mere gasp. The young woman raised a trembling hand to flick the matted light brown hair off her forehead but dropped it back onto the mattress as if the effort was too great.

Rosanna Mast pulled her gaze from the hazel eyes boring into her own to send a silent plea of help to her mamm. Amish midwife Sarah Mast, shrugged her shoulders and continued drying the mewling, rooting infant. Rosanna sponged the young woman’s face with a cool, damp cloth. She looked more a girl than a woman, younger even than Rosanna’s twenty-one years. She’d told them her name was Jane after Sarah had asked repeatedly what they should call her.

Sarah expertly cradled the newborn in the crook of one arm. She raised the other arm to wipe her forehead along the sleeve of her blue dress. She stepped closer to the bed and held the infant out to the woman who had just given birth to her. You have a perfect little girl.

No! If the voice hadn’t been so raspy, Rosanna felt sure the sound would have been an earsplitting shriek. The girl shook her head so hard, Rosanna expected to see brain matter fly out of her ears. She made no move to reach for the bundle in Sarah’s arms. Instead, she kept her arms on the bed with the edges of the cotton sheet bunched tightly in her fists. Yours, she croaked, looking Rosanna straight in the eye. I. Want. You. To. Have. Her. The words were uttered as if with great effort, but the piercing gaze never wavered from Rosanna’s eyes.

Rosanna felt her mouth drop open to her knees. The girl must be delirious. She must have a fever. Rosanna had assisted her mamm with births more times than she could count. Never had she seen a new mudder refuse to cuddle her boppli. Never had she heard a woman say she wanted to give away her newborn. And to her of all people!

Sarah again offered the infant to the panting girl. She leaned down to give her the opportunity to better see the little one. "Look at your dochder. What will her name be?" Sarah’s voice was soft, soothing.

Ask her! The young woman jerked her head toward Rosanna.

I-I-I . . . Rosanna couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. She tried again. "Sh-she’s your boppli." Rosanna looked to Sarah. What in the world was going on here? Mamm would make it right. She always knew what to do.

"She is yours. The exhausted-looking girl let go of the sheet she clutched so tightly and pushed against the mattress to raise herself. Two seconds later she flopped back onto the bed, totally spent. She gasped for breath. I want you to have her." The voice might have been ragged, but it was forceful at the same time.

Why me? You must be confused. Rosanna glanced from the girl to her own wringing hands to her mamm, and finally to the helpless newborn.

Not confused.

"Here, why don’t you nurse your boppli and then we’ll talk. She’s hungry."

No! I-I can’t. She panted after her outburst. Her eyes widened in panic or fear or desperation. Rosanna couldn’t be sure which.

Calm yourself, dear. We’ll help you. If Sarah’s soothing voice and serene manner didn’t settle the young woman, nothing would, though Rosanna felt far from settled herself. Sarah shifted the infant to one side and patted the thin arm lying limp on the bed with her free hand. She turned to Rosanna. "Here, Dochder. Hold the boppli. I have to find something to feed her."

Rosanna automatically reached for the bundle Sarah passed to her. At least her arms weren’t numb like her brain. She looked down into the sweet little face and smiled. The miracle of birth never ceased to thrill her. She’d been ever so glad Mamm had let her start assisting with births. Every newborn was a gift. This precious one somehow seemed even more special. She felt right in Rosanna’s arms. A perfect fit. Rosanna snuck a peek at the girl in the bed. Her eyes were closed tightly, and she didn’t show any sign whatsoever of wanting to bond with her infant. How was Mamm going to fix this?

Well, first off, she’d prepare a bottle of store-bought formula for this wee one, who would soon be wailing in hunger. Most Amish women nursed their newborns, but occasionally someone needed a bit of help. Mamm always kept a little formula around for emergencies. That would take care of this boppli’s physical needs. But what about her emotional needs?

You are such a beauty, Rosanna crooned. The infant focused on her face. Rosanna knew better, but she thought for sure the little bow-shaped mouth curved up in a tiny smile. She knew she was not supposed to pay attention to outward appearances, but this little girl was gorgeous. She wasn’t at all red and wrinkly like most newborns. Her head was not misshapen from squeezing through the birth canal. It was totally perfect and even sported a shock of honey-gold hair.

"Are you ready to see your boppli now, Jane?"

I don’t want to look at her. Jane turned her face in the opposite direction.

I know the whole childbirth experience can be overwhelming, but you need to at least look at your little girl.

"No! The boppy or whatever you called her belongs to you." Jane pointed a shaking finger in Rosanna’s direction.

"Why do you keep saying that? You can’t simply give your boppli away." Rosanna had never been more confused in her life.

I already have.

What? The word slid out of Rosanna’s mouth on a gasp.

Look in my bag. Jane nodded toward the oversized purse on a nearby chair. At Rosanna’s hesitation, Jane spoke louder. Go ahead. Look in my bag.

Rosanna shuffled to the chair, holding the poor unwanted infant closer. She lifted the bag and carried it to the bed. You can search for what you need. She wasn’t about to prowl through someone’s personal belongings.

The weary young woman pushed against the mattress to hoist herself up in the bed. She plunged a hand into the deep recesses of the bag and fumbled around. Aha! Here it is. She pulled a slightly dog-eared paper from her bag and waved it in the air. Read this.

Rosanna wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to read the paper fluttering in Jane’s hand. She wished Mamm would hurry back into the room. What was taking her so long to mix a bottle of formula?

Read it! The voice from the bed came out stronger, more forcefully this time. The paper shook violently in Jane’s hand.

Rosanna jumped, startled by the sudden command. She cradled the newborn with her right hand and reached for the paper with her left one. She squinted to focus in the waning daylight. She should have lit a lamp earlier. At least the print was in bold, black letters. I-I don’t understand. Now she was more confused than ever.

You are Rosanna Mast, correct? The voice had taken on a slightly sharp tone.

"Jah, but why is my name on this paper?"

An exaggerated sigh filled the room. You are the baby’s mother.

Don’t be ridiculous. You just gave birth to her. Rosanna stretched out a hand to lay across Jane’s forehead. The girl must have a raging fever. Rosanna felt a sting when her hand was batted away.

"I do not have a fever. I am of sound mind. You are the adoptive mother then. How’s that?"

Rosanna could only stare. What in the world was this obviously mixed-up young woman talking about?

You have heard of adoption, haven’t you?

Of course. Rosanna dropped her eyes for a quick glance at the infant, who obviously had grown too tired to be hungry and dropped off to sleep. Rosanna’s body swayed to and fro in a slight rocking motion all of its own volition.

"I chose you to be my baby’s mother."

Why? Why would you give her up? Just look at her. She’s precious.

Jane turned her head away to avoid looking at the bundle in Rosanna’s arms. I’m only nineteen. I can’t take care of a baby. And I’m sick. She needs a good home.

Why me? And how did you know my name to put it on this paper?

I’ve watched you at the market the past few weeks. I can tell you’re a good person. I’ve seen you with other people’s children. Besides I want her to be raised Amish. My world certainly hasn’t been very kind to me. I want her raised right. You can do that.

Rosanna shivered and snuggled the newborn closer. It was all so creepy that someone had been watching her, even if it had been a young, very pregnant girl. My name? You put my name on this paper, but I’ve never met you.

"I felt like I knew you as well as I’ve ever known anyone. It wasn’t hard to get your name. I simply asked around. Oh, and I asked about you, too. Everyone said you were a wunderbaar person. I assumed that meant wonderful."

Rosanna nodded.

Well, I’ve always heard the Amish were honest and trustworthy. Wonderful is just the kind of mother this baby needs.

"But you are the mudder."

Did you read that paper? It says I give all parental rights to you. It’s all signed, official, and legal. The baby is yours.

Chapter Two

Rosanna gasped. She looked into the precious, innocent face. Long eyelashes brushed the rounded cheeks. Little wisps of honey hair curled near the forehead. The pink lips almost smiled in sleep. My boppli. She tried the words on. Immediately a fierce protective instinct grabbed hold of her and wouldn’t turn loose. The image of a mother bear with her cub took over her brain. My boppli!

Rosanna nearly leaped from her shoes at the touch of a hand on her arm. She had never even heard her mamm reenter the room. All her focus had been on the tiny being snuggled in her arms.

Dochder, are you all right?

I-I don’t know. All she could think of was the fact that she was a mudder. Something inside her wanted this boppli more than anything in the world. Yet a niggling little voice begging to be heard uttered, What about Henry? Henry Zook. The fellow she’d hoped would ask her to marry him. How would he feel about a ready-made family? How would he feel about raising an Englisch boppli as his own? He barely tolerated Englischers. Though he was always polite, Henry never wanted much dealing with folks who weren’t Amish. Well, if he cared about her at all, he’d have to care about her boppli, too. Her boppli?

Rosanna? Sarah shook the arm not curved around the swaddled infant. What is it?

Here, Mamm. You’d better read this paper.

Just a minute. First let’s see if this little one will wake to eat. I’ve got a bottle warmed. Sarah held up the bottle as if to prove her point.

"What is your boppli’s name?" She smiled at Jane, who had pulled the covers up to her chin and lay observing mother and daughter.

Ask her. The young woman nodded at Rosanna.

Sarah turned raised eyebrows toward her dochder, who shrugged her shoulders and jiggled the piece of paper in her free hand. "Hand the infant to her mamm, Rosanna, and we can talk while she eats."

No! Jane’s voice bounced off the stark walls.

This time, Sarah jumped in surprise. "You don’t want to feed your boppli? Are you in pain?" Sarah started for the bed.

No to both questions. And you don’t have to come over here to feel my forehead. Ask her. Jane nodded at Rosanna again.

"Kumm, Dochder." Sarah moved to take the infant, obviously intending to hand her to Jane.

Take the baby with you. Jane turned on her side and pulled the covers over her head.

I’ve never seen anything like it, Sarah mumbled as she and Rosanna filed out of the room. She pulled the door closed behind them. I’ve never seen a woman not eager to hold her newborn. I know this girl is young, but I’ve attended many young Amish girls’ births, and none have acted like this. Could it be postpartum depression?

Mamm. Rosanna nudged the older woman, breaking into her monologue. You need to read this paper Jane handed me.

"What kind of paper could be more important than her own boppli? She didn’t want to feed her or even hold her. I really should make sure she isn’t feverish or hemorrhaging or . . ."

Mamm, read the paper. Rosanna thrust the sheet of paper into her mamm’s hand.

Sarah gave an exasperated sigh and shook the paper open. Rosanna studied her face as she swayed to and fro to rock the infant whose long-lashed eyes were still closed in innocent slumber. She watched the color fade from her mamm’s cheeks.

What is this? Sarah’s voice rose a little on each word.

Shhh! Rosanna dared to hush the obviously astonished woman. I couldn’t believe it at first, either.

How do you know this girl, Rosanna? I thought she was a stranger to you, too, when she showed up at our door asking for help.

She was, Mamm. Truly, she was. Apparently she’d been watching me for, well, I don’t know how long, at the market or wherever. She said she felt like she could trust me. She asked people about me and got my name from someone she spoke with.

"Well, this is absolutely ridiculous! Women don’t just hand their kinner over to total strangers. This-this paper . . ."

"Is a legal document. There’s a seal at the bottom. I don’t think adoption is too foreign in the Englisch world."

Let me talk to that girl. She simply has some strange postpartum thing going on, that’s all. I’ll clear up this whole confusion quick.

Before Sarah could move, Rosanna laid a hand on her arm. "I asked her all the questions I’m sure you’ll ask her. She said she was only nineteen, that she couldn’t care for a boppli, and that she was sick. She said the infant was, uh, is mine."

Yours! You aren’t even married. You’re young yourself.

I’m twenty-one, Mamm. Lots of girls my age are going on their second pregnancy.

What about Henry?

Rosanna felt the heat rise from her toes to her scalp. Even if parents knew their dochder was interested in a fellow, they didn’t mention it. Dating and courtship weren’t generally discussed. I-I don’t know. Rosanna’s voice squeaked. She cleared her throat. But if Jane truly doesn’t want this precious little one, I will gladly accept full responsibility for her.

You can’t take on such a thing! You aren’t ready for—

"What first-time mudder is truly ready? They all have to learn, ain’t so? Rosanna suddenly felt the need to defend her case. I’m probably more ready than most. I’ve taken care of my younger bruders and schweschders, sure, but I’ve cared for newborns fresh from the womb. I’m comfortable with them." She glanced down at the sweet infant in her arms and smiled.

"You’ve already fallen in leib with this one, ain’t so?"

Rosanna nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek. "If Jane doesn’t want this boppli, then I do."

Sarah wrapped an arm around her dochder’s shoulders. "You’ve always had a tender heart. I don’t have any doubt you would make a fine mudder. I just don’t want you to get attached to this wee one until we check this all out. I don’t want you to ruin your chances at a happy marriage. And I don’t want you to get hurt if this is all some kind of sham."

Rosanna nodded. "I know, Mamm. I truly think this paper is for real. Widows with kinner remarry all the time, and their new husbands willingly take on a ready-made family. I’m not worried about the whole marriage thing." Much.

That’s different.

"Well, if any man cares about me, he’ll have to care about my boppli, too."

Let’s not put the cart before the horse, Dochder. Let’s check this out more before you let your enthusiasm run away with you.

Thoughts spun through Rosanna’s mind as fast as the windmill spun on a blustery day. Would Mamm and Daed forbid her to keep the boppli? Surely they wouldn’t turn away a helpless little one. Would they say she belonged in the Englisch world? Jane wanted her raised in the Amish faith. The Lord Gott must have led Jane to their door. Wasn’t it His will Jane sought her out to raise the infant?

If Jane was befuddled, as Mamm insisted, she stayed that way for the next day and a half that she dozed or pretended to doze in the Masts’ spare bedroom. Rosanna had taken over care of the infant, as Jane had requested, but tried repeatedly to get the girl to hold or even look at her precious newborn.

That girl has rested and recuperated and eaten every morsel of food we’ve taken her. I’d say she was ready to talk sensibly about her decision now. Sarah stood in the upstairs hallway with hands balled into fists on her hips.

I’ve tried, Mamm, over and over again. I haven’t gotten anywhere.

Sarah squeezed Rosanna’s arm before marching into the bedroom. Well, I’ll straighten this whole business out, she muttered. That girl is simply confused. That’s all.

Rosanna followed on Sarah’s heels. She didn’t want to miss a single word exchanged between Mamm and Jane. Her heart hammered. What if Jane had changed her mind after all? What if she said she’d made a mistake and wanted to raise the infant herself? Mamm would tear that paper to bits, and Rosanna would have to relinquish this precious little one she already thought of as hers.

Jane, let’s talk about this. Sarah pushed the door open and then stopped so abruptly Rosanna nearly crashed into her. Jane? Where is she?

Rosanna scooted around her mamm. The rumpled bed stood empty of its patient. Where could she be?

We would have seen her leave the room. We were right there in the hallway.

The window. Rosanna pointed to the almost fully opened window.

The girl just recently gave birth. She couldn’t have leaped from the window. We’re on the second floor.

Rosanna beat Sarah to the window and stared outside. Jane could have easily climbed down by way of the old oak tree, just like her older bruders bragged of doing years ago. Since the tree had already shed its leaves, Jane’s climb would have been a little easier than that of the buwe, who generally only made this escape when the foliage hid them. Only Jane had to be exhausted and more than a little weak so soon after delivery, especially if she was as sick as she said. I don’t see her. Could she have run off that fast?

Certainly not. Not in her condition. She’s probably hiding somewhere.

Hello! a deep voice called up the stairs.

"Ach! I forgot. Sarah smacked her forehead. Paul Hertzler was stopping by to pick up the quilt I finished up for his mamm. She ran into a problem with it, and I helped her out. Her arthritis has been acting up something fierce lately. Sarah turned toward the door and spoke louder. Be right there, Paul."

If you’re busy, you can just tell me where the quilt is, and I’ll get it. A thump sounded on the step.

I’ll go. Rosanna whirled away from the window and started down the stairs, still cradling the infant. She heard Sarah descending behind her.

Hello, Rosanna. Paul’s handsome face crinkled into a smile. Hey, who’s this? He nodded at the newborn who Rosanna now felt was a part of her.

It-it’s Mollie. Where did that thought come from? She did like the name, though, and it seemed to fit this golden-haired little angel. It certainly beat calling her Boppli.

She’s a beauty. Paul leaned close to look into the little face. He reached one large finger out to gently stroke the little cheek. Would Henry do such a thing? Not many young men would pay much attention to a boppli. Who does she belong to?

Rosanna looked up and up. My, but Paul was tall. He must be at least six feet, so at least a good seven inches or so taller than her. Henry was barely her own height. Maybe only a whisper taller. Now, why on earth was she comparing the two? At last her eyes reached Paul’s. Hazel, they were. Not quite green and not quite brown, with flecks of gold. If eyes could smile, his did. She’s m—

"How is your mudder doing?" Sarah interrupted before Rosanna could lay claim to the infant.

She’s had right many bad days here lately. I know it’s frustrating for her when her hands hurt too much to do her usual activities. Paul gave a little chuckle. You know how stubborn Mamm is, though. She hates to ask for help.

We all need help now and then. Sarah flew off in the direction of the living room but