The Revealing (20 page)

“Nice to meet you. I’m Brooke Snyder.”

Penny Williams wore pointy glasses and her hair in a tight doughnut bun on the top of her head. “I haven’t seen you around. Are you new to Stoney Ridge?”

“I’m staying out at Eagle Hill for an extended vacation.
I’m . . . in between jobs.” Brooke took a sip of coffee. “I’ve been reading your newspaper.” She leaned across the table. “I would love to have an introduction to Mrs. Miracle.”

Penny smiled. “Join the crowd. So would everyone. The features editor, especially. He’s been wanting to talk to her for weeks now. But no one knows her true identity.”

Intriguing!

Penny lowered her voice. “Just between you and me—that column is the reason most people buy this paper. About six months ago, it was on its last legs—it was only getting published a few times a week. But Mrs. Miracle has changed all that. It’s back to being a daily newspaper. The editor said he’s got an offer to syndicate. That’s why he’s trying to track her down.” She rubbed the tips of her fingers together. “Syndication means big bucks.”

Brooke leaned back in her seat. “You’re telling me that the paper’s livelihood is dependent on someone no one has ever met?”

Offended, Penny stiffened. “I said no such thing. Any paper’s livelihood is dependent on advertisers. What I did say was that Mrs. Miracle’s column has boosted circulation. Considerably. And that makes advertisers very happy. Which makes the publisher and editors happy too.”

“What makes Mrs. Miracle’s column so unique?” Brooke added cream to her coffee and stirred. “There are plenty of advice columns.”

“Mrs. Miracle sees things in a different way. And she has a knack for pointing people back to the most important things in life. The column used to be once a week, now it’s twice a week, and the editor wants it to go to three times a week.”

“What
do
you know about Mrs. Miracle?”

Penny shrugged. “Nothing, really. An Amish girl drops off the column and picks up her paycheck and she won’t reveal the identity of Mrs. Miracle. I’ve tried.”

Brooke’s mouth dropped open. “Are you telling me that Mrs. Miracle is an Amish girl?”

“I said no such thing.” Penny’s feathers ruffled again. “Absolutely not. Not a chance. Around here, a lot of Amish girls work for the non-Amish—doing errands and housecleaning, that sort of thing. My guess is Mrs. Miracle is a well-to-do woman in her sixties. She’s seen it all.” She looked at the clock. “I’d better get back to the office. Nice to meet you, Brittany.”

“Brooke. Brooke Snyder.” But Penny was already out the door and hurrying down the street.

All afternoon, as Brooke strolled through the little Main Street shops, hoping to bump into Jon, she pondered the secret identity of Mrs. Miracle. Could she be Amish? These Plain people kept surprising her. She stopped and picked up a copy of today’s newspaper and sat on a sidewalk bench in the sun to read it. Automatically, she turned to the Mrs. Miracle column. As she started to read, she sat up.
There
was her letter to Mrs. Miracle!

So what advice would Mrs. Miracle have for her predicament?

Dear Borrower,

Rather than try to change yourself or copy others, why not try to accept the person you’re intended to be? The thing about looking for a new identity is that, when all is said and done, you’re still you. Wherever you go, there you’ll be.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Miracle

Wait.
What?
Brooke had heard that same thing before, but where? Where, where, where? Slowly, awareness dawned on her. Could it be? Could it possibly be?

Fourteen-year-old Mim Schrock
was
Mrs. Miracle.

12

L
ater that afternoon, Rose was down in the barn. She clipped a lead line to the mare and led her out to the pasture, her little foal trotting behind. Her mother-in-law Vera met her out in the yard as she closed the gate. “Rose, what did you say to Paisley to get her all . . . jittery?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s in there pacing around the house like a caged tiger.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “An apt description. She seems a little like a tiger.”

“You shouldn’t be aggravating her so.”

Rose stopped in her tracks. “Do you honestly believe her story? You think she’s Tobe’s girlfriend? Tobe might have sowed some wild oats, but does she seem like the kind of girl he would be interested in?”

“Tobe has been under a great deal of stress. People aren’t themselves when they’re stressed.” Vera bristled. “And he would do the right thing by her.”

“Vera, a girl like Paisley could never become Amish. You must see that, don’t you? She would only keep him from the church.”

“If you would just show a little kindness, she might be interested in joining our people. You’re not even giving her a chance.”

Rose was astounded. Vera found fault with nearly everyone—all but Dean, her son, and Tobe and Bethany, her favorite grandchildren. And now Paisley was added to the brief list. Paisley, of all people? “That girl came here out of the blue. What do we know about her?”

“She says she’s carrying Tobe’s baby. What else do we need to know?”

“I won’t believe that until I hear it from Tobe.”

“You have to be in control of everybody and everything, don’t you?”

Rose flinched. Just as she was about to open her mouth to say something she was sure she would regret, Luke and Sammy burst out of the house and ran to meet Rose in the yard. “Paisley said to come quick! She’s having her baby! Right now! Right on the kitchen floor!”

Six hours later, a baby girl was born to Paisley at the Lancaster County Hospital. Rose stayed by Paisley’s side as she labored. She wiped her forehead with a cool cloth and fed her ice chips, all the while realizing that Paisley was completely, thoroughly unprepared for bringing a newborn into the world. When the contractions rolled over her, overwhelming her, she screamed out in pain and insisted she didn’t want to be a mother.

Paisley took in a breath and blew it out slowly. “I’m not qualified.”

“Every new mother feels that way. I certainly did.”

“Please,” Paisley pleaded, clinging to Rose’s hand. “Get it out. Whatever you have to do, just get it out.”

“You’re doing it,” Rose said, with a calm she didn’t feel. “There’s only one way to get through this. You’re the only one who can get this baby out . . . and you’re doing it.”

A long, moaning wail emerged out of Paisley. Her body was finally surrendering; she stopped fighting, and the baby began to move, slowly, down the birth canal and into the doctor’s waiting arms.

The room went still. A time that was usually so joyful, buzzing with activity, but no one spoke. The obstetrician and nurses had serious looks on their faces as the pediatrician examined the baby. There was a flurry of whispering, then the baby was briefly shown to Paisley before getting whisked away.

Paisley grabbed Rose’s arm. “Something’s wrong with it.”

Rose looked to the nurse to answer.

The nurse was checking Paisley’s blood pressure and kept her eyes fixed on the blood pressure monitor. “The baby’s being looked after right now. The doctor will talk to you soon.” She unwrapped the blood pressure cuff from Paisley’s arms. Then, more kindly, she said, “You must be exhausted. After we get you cleaned up, you should try to sleep.” She nodded in Rose’s direction. “You too.”

As soon as Paisley drifted to sleep, Rose went back to Eagle Hill to get a few hours’ sleep, then returned around noon.

Paisley was curled up in the hospital bed, facing the window, away from the baby in the bassinet next to her.

“How are you feeling?” Rose asked her, before bending to kiss the sleeping baby’s forehead.

Paisley didn’t want to talk. She wasn’t interested in seeing the baby, holding it, nursing it. Rose was appalled; she kept
encouraging her to look at the baby, but the nurse assured her that wasn’t entirely unusual, under the circumstances.

The nurse motioned to Rose to meet her in the hallway. “The doctor wants to talk to you.” She pointed to the pediatrician standing in scrubs by the nurses’ station, filling out paperwork.

The doctor sat down with Rose and told her what she already knew after seeing the epicanthic folds around the baby’s eyes last night before she was whisked away. She had seen it before. She had known it the moment she saw the baby. This was a special child. One with Down syndrome.

“We ran a number of tests last night and the baby seems to be very healthy,” the doctor explained. “Sometimes, these babies have heart defects.”

Rose let out a deep sigh. “I assume you’ve already told this to Paisley?”

He nodded. “She’s still in shock. She had no idea the baby would have an issue. Nowadays, an anatomical ultrasound would pick up markers that give indication of chromosomal defects. She said she never had one. I don’t see this kind of case very often, where a mother doesn’t realize she’s going to have a baby with Down’s.”

“I don’t think she had any prenatal care.”

He put the pen back in his shirt pocket. “In this day and age, there’s a lot of counseling available to help. Most T-21 kids grow up to be loving, caring individuals. As the baby develops, everything will take longer, each new skill will be a huge hurdle, but your granddaughter should have a full and happy life. She’ll just need extra time for everything.” He patted Rose’s arm. “I can’t deny it gives me peace of mind to think this child will be raised in an Amish home. I know
your people perceive handicapped children differently than the non-Amish.”

“Special children,” Rose said in a distracted way.

“Pardon?”

“That’s what we call them. Not handicapped.”

Pleased, he bobbed his head. “That’s just what I meant. Exactly that.”

His pager went off and he excused himself, so Rose went to sit by Paisley’s bed. “Did you notice the baby’s ten little fingers and ten toes, Paisley? Perfect.”

“She’s
not
perfect.”

Rose reached out and patted Paisley’s bent knee. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see.” She tried hard to stop her voice from sounding like Paisley’s mother or her schoolteacher.

“I’ve heard that line before.” Paisley yanked her knee away and turned her head. “Nothing ever works out the way it should for me.”

Rose tried several times to get Paisley interested in the baby, but with no success. Paisley didn’t want anything to do with the baby; she just wanted to leave the hospital. The baby had weak muscle tone for sucking, which might make nursing difficult, so the nurse provided a bottle with a specially designed nipple that the baby accepted. Once the baby started to take the bottle consistently, the doctor agreed to let them go home, as long as the baby was brought back for a follow-up physical in two days.

“I think Paisley might adjust to the baby a little better at home than here,” he said to Rose as he signed the release papers.

Rose hoped he was right, but knew otherwise.

The last thing Paisley needed to do before she could be released from the hospital was to fill out the birth certificate. She said she didn’t care what Rose called the baby so she chose the name Sarah, after a favorite cousin who had Down’s. All Paisley cared about was that Tobias Schrock was named as the baby’s father on the birth certificate.

“The name you put on that birth certificate has to be legal. Tobe will have to sign the birth certificate to admit to being the father of your child.”

Paisley blinked, then scribbled Tobe’s name on the line. “And why would he not?”

Well, for one, Rose thought, he might not be the baby’s father. She didn’t say it aloud, though, because she actually felt a little sorry for Paisley. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel if she were in Paisley’s shoes right now and so she didn’t even try. She thought it would be best to try to support her as she stepped into motherhood. Was it possible for a woman to simply not have a capacity to mother her own child?

With a jolt, she thought of Dean’s first wife, Tobe and Bethany’s mother, whom she knew little about. Dean rarely mentioned her, nor did Vera. All that Rose knew of Mary Miller Schrock was that she abandoned her young children, divorced Dean, and left someone else to pick up the pieces of a shattered family. Two years later, Rose became that someone.