Sarah's Orphans (12 page)

Fortunately, their washing machine was a newer model that tapped directly into the hot water heater. Sarah measured half a cup of laundry powder, added it to the water that was already filling the tub, and pushed in the first load of laundry, which included Mia's and Mateo's clothes. No doubt they would feel more comfortable when they were again wearing their own things. She yanked the starting cord and almost laughed at the expression on Mateo's face.

“It's the Amish way.” She motioned for him to come over and take a look at the machine. “We don't have electricity, so the washer operates off of a small gasoline engine. Like when you pull the cord to start a lawn mower.”

She continued explaining the process to him as the machine began to agitate. On the wall shared with the kitchen was a large sink. She filled two buckets with water for rinsing, adding fabric softener to one and leaving plain water in the other. Mateo laughed out loud when he saw her run the first pair of pants through the wringer that sat next to the washer. After that she dipped them into the water with fabric softener, put them back through the wringer, and rinsed them a last time in the water-only bucket.

It was a long process, but one she was used to. Mateo quickly got the hang of using the wringer. Together they made quite a productive team. Soon, the lines strung across the back porch were filled with clothing, Mateo was a pro, and Mia was sound asleep.

Sarah sank onto an old wooden chair they kept in the room, and Mateo plopped on the floor, his back against the now silent washer and his eyes taking in the mudroom, his sleeping sister, and Sarah. She knew she was a mess, but what woman wasn't after a morning of laundry? The humidity had caused her hair to pop out of her
kapp
in haphazard, lazy waves. The sleeves of her dress were damp, and though it was cold outside, she was still sweating from the work they had done. Glancing down, she saw that she'd also managed to get a good bit of the casserole she'd made onto the front of her apron. No harm. It wasn't as if they were expecting visitors.

Mateo stood and walked across the room, gingerly touching a baseball bat in Luke's cubby.

“It's okay. You can take it outside if you want.”

Grinning as if she'd just handed him the world's best gift, he turned and tried to hurry from the room. But he was still wearing Isaac's pants, which were a tad too long. He tripped, bumped against the table, grabbed for something to steady himself and pulled the bucket of rinse water down on his head.

He sat there, stunned and dripping, and apparently worried he was in trouble.

“It's not a problem, Mateo. It's just water.”

As she hurried across the room to help him, he pointed toward where Mia had been sleeping. Only she wasn't there anymore. She'd once again disappeared.

And then, when Sarah thought things couldn't get any crazier, she heard a knock at the back door.

CHAPTER 23

P
aul had no idea what to say to Sarah when she opened the door. He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.

A small Hispanic boy waited near the counter, dripping wet and struggling not to burst into tears.

Sarah stood in front of him, a look of complete bewilderment on her face. Her apron was soiled. The sleeves of her dress were pushed up and wet, and her hair was poking out of her
kapp
in a dozen directions. She was a complete mess.

Paul felt sweat break out under the rim of his hat, between his shoulder blades, and even on his palms. He wanted to back away. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to knock on the back door? He should have known when he'd dodged through the rows of hanging laundry that now would be a bad time—apparently a very bad time.

“Oh. I'm sorry. Come in.” Sarah abruptly turned away from him and hurried to the corner of the room, where she picked up a blanket and shook it out, as if she was looking for something. “Mateo, I have to find Mia.”

She left the room and then darted back in. “Your clothes are still wet. Why don't you run up to your room and change into some of Isaac's things?”

The boy looked past Paul at the laundry lines spread across the back porch. He glanced back at Sarah. Though the room was warmer than outside, the lad had begun to shiver.

“Don't worry. Paul will help you.” She turned to him, still clutching the blanket that had been on the floor. “Could you…could you go with him upstairs and help him find something to wear? I have to…”

She turned and hurried from the room.

The boy looked at Paul and shrugged. It was simple enough to find him some clothes. But why was a Hispanic boy staying with Sarah? They went upstairs together, Mateo showing him which room was Isaac's. Together they pulled out a pair of dark pants and shirt from the chest of drawers.

The boy accepted the clothes with a timid,
“Gracias.”

“De nada,”
Paul replied.

The boy looked surprised, but he didn't question him. Instead, he bundled up his clothes and a dry towel and disappeared into the bathroom.

Paul returned to the laundry room, wondering what had just happened. Spying a mop in the corner, he grabbed it and cleaned up the water that had apparently spilled from a bucket. He squeezed the water out into the sink and put the mop back in the corner.

Still no Sarah.

Glancing around the room, he could see the bottom shelf where the bucket belonged. When he squatted down to put it there, he found himself eye to eye with a small Hispanic girl.

“Cómo estás?”

The girl's eyes were large and brown, and she looked frightened. Though she didn't answer him, when he held out his hand, she took it and crawled out from the shelf where she'd been hiding.

“We'd best go and find Sarah.”

He walked into the kitchen and nearly laughed at the sight of her, opening each cabinet and looking frantically inside.

“Is this what you're searching for?”

Sarah twirled toward him, her eyes widening in disbelief. Hurrying across the room, she pulled the girl into her arms. “Where did you find her?”

“Bottom shelf. Mudroom. Say, what's going on here?”

The child laid her head on Sarah's chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and stuck her thumb into her mouth.

“It's okay, Mia. It's okay.” She settled the child into a chair at the table. “Maybe she's hungry. I just don't know if I'm doing this right, and sometimes she disappears.”

“Disappears?”

“Hides. Why would she hide?”

He could see that her hands were shaking as she pulled out bread, homemade peanut butter, and a pitcher of milk. What was it about this woman that made him want to fix things? Normally, he made a point of staying out of other people's problems.

Paul crossed the room in three long strides. “Go sit down by her. I'll bring over whatever you need.”

Sarah's hands fluttered to her
kapp
, her hair, and finally dropped at her side. “
Ya
.
Gut
idea. There are strawberry preserves in the refrigerator.”

He gathered up the sandwich fixings and set them on the table. Then he retrieved the pitcher of milk and poured three mugs full. The girl had climbed into Sarah's lap, and the boy was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

His eyes brightened when they landed on the food.

“Lava tus manos,”
Paul said.

The boy walked straight to the kitchen sink, but Sarah choked on the sip of milk she'd taken.

“You know Spanish?”

“A little.”

“How—”

“I worked more than ten years in the RV factories in Indiana. We had a fair number of Hispanic workers. Almost as many as Amish.”

The little girl reached up and touched Sarah's face, saying the same phrase over and over.

“I don't…I don't know what she wants.”

“Her mother.
Quiero que mi mamá
. She wants her mother.” Paul sat down at the table as Sarah began to make sandwiches. She offered to make him one, but he shook his head. He needed to get out of this house as quickly as possible. He didn't want to leave her in a predicament, though.

“Explain to me who these two are and why they're staying here.”

He forgot about the fact that he was now officially purchasing a farm. He pushed away thoughts of the needs next door, the house that looked ready to fall in on itself, the barn that he was moving into within the week, and even the tractor that he'd hoped to get Andy to fix. His attention was captured by Sarah's story.

She picked at her sandwich while the children devoured theirs. Soon Sarah was done explaining how they had found the children and brought them home, and she was wiping the little girl's mouth with a washrag. “Could you…that is to say, would you mind…”

He took the little girl from Sarah's arms. She was small and thin and stared up at him as if he knew the answers to any question.

“No llores,”
he said, rubbing her back as he'd seen Rebecca do with the grandchildren.
“Está bien.”

The words seemed to soothe her, or perhaps she was exhausted by the morning's ordeal.

“I'll be right back.” Sarah hurried from the room and up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “If you could stay just another minute, please.”

So he found himself alone with the boy and the girl.

“Dónde está tu madre?”

The boy shrugged, but then he began to speak—hesitantly at first and then gaining momentum with each word, his story spilling out of him like water gushing over river stones.

By the time Sarah returned, wearing a clean dress and apron, and with her hair tamed into some semblance of control, Paul had a pretty good idea what was going on.

CHAPTER 24

S
arah sat staring at her brothers and the children and Paul.

She'd returned from changing clothes to find Paul talking with Mateo. Before she could question him, Andy and Henry had walked in and set about making their own lunch. Though he had politely refused to eat with Sarah and the kids, he'd had no problem putting down two sandwiches with Andy there. Was she too scary to eat around? Every time he glanced at her, she was certain he frowned.

As they ate, the conversation had turned to the Fisher place next door. Paul had stopped by, looking for Andy, hoping he could fix the tractor he'd found behind the barn.

“So it's true?” Sarah continued to hold Mia in her lap. “You're buying the Fisher place?”

“
Ya
. Received the call this morning that they accepted my offer. The real estate agent has power of attorney, so the deal should close quickly.”

“And they're allowing you to work there before the sale is finalized?”

“What's the harm? The worst I could do is improve something. If the sale didn't go through—and it will—then the family has received a few days of free labor.”

Paul seemed to be enjoying dropping such momentous news on her, or maybe he was just happy about the farm he'd purchased.

Mateo and Mia finished their meal, so Sarah told them they could go into the living room, sit on the couch, and read or draw.

“I hope to move in by this weekend,” he added, studying his now empty plate.

“We'll be glad to have you as a neighbor.” Andy poured another glass of milk and reached for the peanut butter bars.

They had neighbors on the other side of their property and to the back—though one family was
Englisch
and the other an elderly Amish couple who would probably sell soon. Still, it wasn't as if they were alone.

But none of that was her most pressing concern. She leaned forward and waited until Paul met her gaze. “You said you know Spanish? Can you talk to Mateo?”

“I already have.” Paul drummed his fingers against the table. “Guess I got caught up in farm details, which is why I came over to begin with. Can't tell you how relieved I am, Andy, that you're willing to look at the tractor.”

“I'm not promising we can fix it.”

“But we'll give it a try.” Henry looked pleased at the thought.

“Henry can fix most things,” Andy explained. “My
bruder
is good with mechanical problems.”

Paul accepted a peanut butter bar when Henry passed the plate his way. “I also wanted to see if it would be possible for me to hire Henry for the spring planting.”

“Henry will be busy here,” Sarah said.

“There's plenty of Henry to go around,” Andy assured her. “It's an effort some days to find enough work for him, which is why he's working at the restaurant in town.”

“I'd rather be working on a tractor—or even farming. Anything beats asking folks if they want their whoopie pie to go.”