Always in My Heart Read online

  “No, you get to picking the garden. Your mother wants to can corn and succotash today.”

  This was another difference from most households James had lived in. He knew foster kids who would argue that the moon was blue just to be heard. But no one argued when Stephen Bowman issued an order. During the entire meal Hope kept glancing between him and her husband. She said nothing and barely ate two spoonfuls of food.

  After breakfast James tried not to worry as he and Stephen walked toward the neighbor’s house. What was there to worry about? He was here checking out his once-upon-a-time mother, never with the intention of staying.

  “Okay, the phone is in there,” Stephen announced after a long meander down the country road. “You can explain the situation first, but I wish to talk to those in charge of you, so don’t hang up.”

  “In there?” he asked, pointing at a small shed. “It looks like an outhouse.”

  Hope’s husband did not laugh. “I assure you, it’s not. Go on in.”

  James entered the hut with trepidation but found it clean and free of spiderwebs. It had a small window in the back wall for ventilation, a wooden stool, and a shelf of phone books. A black phone hung on the wall while a tablet and pen rested atop the directories.

  “I’ll mark on the pad the date and time of your call so the district member who gets the bill will know who to collect money from.”

  “I’m kind of tapped out at the moment. Can I owe you for the call?”

  Stephen’s eyes crinkled into deep lines. “Nope, this is on Hope and me. Now, make the call.” He stepped back from the shed.

  James had no choice but to do as he was told. His foster mother answered on the second ring. In four succinct sentences he explained where he was, what he’d done, and why he had done it. Then he held his breath and waited.

  “Thank goodness you’re all right, James Webb! You had us worried. We called your caseworker immediately and they alerted the police. You were reported as a runaway instead of a possible abduction, so there was no Amber alert.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled halfheartedly. “Sure don’t want to see my face plastered on milk cartons.”

  After some additional browbeating, Mrs. Hyde asked, “You say you’re with an Amish family?”

  “Yeah, my birth mother is Amish. Didn’t see that one coming. I’d like to stay a few more days if it’s okay with you. I’m kinda curious about them, but don’t worry, I’m not turning Amish anytime soon.” He whispered the last sentence, then allowed his foster mom to whine more about his lack of respect for authority and sense of responsibility. After a while James handed the phone to Stephen. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Stephen switched places but closed the door to speak privately. James tried to eavesdrop but could hear nothing through the thick wood. When Stephen exited the phone shed, he was smiling. “Mrs. Hyde agreed you can stay for a few days but wants you home by Sunday and back in school on Monday. You’ll have to make up your homework when you return, but she’ll notify the school, the police, and your social worker. She said I should expect the county sheriff to pay us a call to make sure you’re not being held against your will.”

  James laughed. “Tied up and gagged?”

  Hope’s husband frowned. “Creating a ruckus isn’t a joke. I said the sheriff could come anytime. In the meantime, you must help with chores if you expect to eat and allow Hope to wash your clothing.”

  “These are different from yesterday’s.” He pointed at his jeans. “They just look the same. I’ll bring the dirty clothes downstairs.”

  “You agree with doing chores?”

  James nodded. “Sure. I liked yesterday, and the idea of no school.”

  “You do realize we don’t have a TV or a computer.” A twinkle in Stephen’s eye gave away his improving mood.

  “Yeah. It’ll be like a camping trip I once took, with way better eats at suppertime.”

  And so the two men walked back to the Bowman farm with James looking forward to some physical labor for the first time in his life.

  Hope couldn’t stop humming that evening. Everything had gone well. Sweet Becky Byler had stopped by for a few hours to watch Greta and baby Faith so that she could take Josie to the dentist in town and stop at the drugstore for a few necessities. The dentist easily fixed Josie’s one cavity. Hope found the items she wanted on sale. And very little traffic troubled her ride home. Most of all James Webb had settled nicely into the family routine, which brought her boundless joy.

  The boy rose each morning with the rooster. He dressed quickly, remembering to deliver his clothes for her to wash instead of leaving them strewn on the guest room floor. He cleaned his plate at every meal, never once complaining about their simple Amish fare. Plus, he got along with all his sisters. Greta and Emily adored him and would follow him around like puppies if Stephen hadn’t specifically forbidden it. Even Josie was emerging from her shell. She’d been spotted making eye contact and initiating conversation with James. Maybe that wasn’t another Bowman family miracle, but Hope was pleased. Her second oldest was conquering shyness while her eldest was forming positive sibling relationships.

  What had his life been like in the variety of foster homes? Had he been tormented or bullied, as children often did to those who were even slightly different? James mentioned to Stephen one evening that he cared little for sports. That alone put him at odds with most of the English male population.

  Hope struggled to force away a mental picture of boys mocking her son. Even in the Amish community, children could be mean to each other. Poor Becky Byler was often taunted for her obesity. Being heavy was unusual among Plain folk, and even adults were often thoughtless with their questions and comments:

  “Did you gain more weight since the last time I saw you, Becky Byler?”

  “How much fabric must you buy to make a dress these days?”

  “Here, take this jar of pickled cauliflower home to eat. That should have fewer calories than potatoes or sweet corn.”

  Hope was fond of Becky, so she was happy to find the young woman with James when she returned from town. The two were at the kitchen table drinking iced tea and talking, while Becky rocked Faith’s swing and Greta and Emily napped. From what Hope overheard of their conversation, Becky was explaining some of the reasons behind Amish life.

  If James was bothered by Becky’s size, he didn’t show it. And Becky asked no uncomfortable details about his life in the city. After Hope paid Becky for babysitting, the girl said to James, “Welcome to Paradise. I hope you enjoy your stay with the Bowmans and come back often.”

  When James went out to help milk cows, Hope started thinking. Come back often? Why should he travel back and forth from Philadelphia to Paradise? He needed to remain with his family. She couldn’t wait until her kitchen was clean that evening to discuss the matter with Stephen. The moment her husband came in after his final livestock check, she ambushed him. “I don’t want James to leave tomorrow.”

  Stephen stared at her, then headed to the stove to heat water for tea. “You’re not talking sense, fraa. I’ve already arranged a hired van to drive him back to the bus station. And I reserved tickets to take him to Harrisburg and then on to Philadelphia.” He pulled two mugs from the shelf.

  “But why should he leave? His foster mother has several other boys. They don’t need this one. I am his mamm—we are his family. This is where he belongs.” It took all her reserve to not stomp her foot.

  Stephen arched one dark eyebrow. “It’s not a question of them not needing this one. That is where he lives—they have legal papers.”

  “But I want this to be his permanent home. I prayed to God for a miracle—to be given a son—and God gave us my firstborn. Not another baby down the road, but an almost-grown young man who needs love and acceptance. If James is willing, you should call those folks again to say he’s staying.”

  Stephen placed tea bags in mugs as he waited for the water to boil. “We are Amish and he is not.”

 
Hope paced back and forth. “James could become Amish. And if he doesn’t want to, he could live with us as an Englischer until he leaves for college or marries and finds a place of his own. The two of you can build a cabin on our property near the road so the driveway wouldn’t be too long when he eventually buys a car.”

  Stephen held up his hand. “You’re talking crazy. We are Amish and therefore subject to the Ordnung and rules made by the bishop. Decisions regarding James’s future aren’t ours to make. They’re up to James and his caseworker and our bishop, along with the ministerial brethren.” The whistle from the teakettle added a harsh punctuation mark to his words. “Have you thought about what your daed or other elders would say about a fifteen-year-old Englischer’s influence on a houseful of impressionable girls? They would never permit it.”

  This time Hope did stomp her foot. “I don’t care what my father has to say about this. He made an evil mistake years ago, and I won’t let him make another one now.”

  Stephen dunked tea bags into the steeping cups of water. “Don’t throw the word evil around casually. Silas’s decisions were misguided, but I doubt he had evil intent.”

  “Fine, but I still won’t seek his counsel with anything concerning James.”

  “What about the bishop or the other elders? Will you disregard their advice as well?” Folding his arms across his chest, Stephen lifted his chin.

  Hope shrank back a little. “No. I’m Amish and always will be, but I want my son in my . . . our lives.”

  Stephen stared for a long moment. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hope. It’s up to the boy. He might decide one farm visit is enough.” He blew across the surface of his mug. “Come get your tea. It might help you think clearer.”

  “I’ve lost my taste for the stuff tonight. And there’s not a thing wrong with my thinking.” In a rare show of temper, Hope strode from the room and headed upstairs without waiting for her ehemann.

  Chapter Nine

  Stephen’s jaw dropped and his stomach churned. Before he could form a thought, his fraa stomped out of the room like a stubborn child. His first inclination was to follow after Hope to demand she discuss the matter like an adult. To show him the respect he deserved as her husband and head of the household. To place her family before herself as instructed in New Testament scripture and follow the Ordnung of her district.

  But as soon as he formed the thought, it disintegrated like fireplace ash along with his anger. She was right, pure and simple. Silas had done her a grave injustice by forcing his will on her—an injustice to the entire family. James Webb wasn’t the only one who’d been enlightened these past few days. That boy was a Klobentz through and through and therefore now a Bowman.

  Stephen saw Hope in so many of James’s features and mannerisms: in the tilt of his head and the way he laughed, in his fondness for any fruit but disdain for turnips and squash. At first his Englishness set him apart from his natural mamm and half siblings, but as the week progressed resemblances grew more apparent. Not just to Hope but to Josie, Emily, and Greta as well.

  Yesterday while they walked the fence line checking for breaks or any weak spots, James had shared the story of one of his foster mothers who, when he was five, decided to break him of a bad habit. While he slept, she carefully withdrew his thumb from his mouth without waking him. Then she coated it with butter and cayenne pepper. When James reinserted the thumb, he awoke to a mouth on fire and a lifelong distaste for pepper—black, white, or red.

  Thumb sucking he had in common with baby Faith. Yet he and Hope would allow Faith to outgrow the habit on her own, just as his other three daughters had.

  By the light of a nearly full moon, Stephen headed up the lane in between the cow pasture and hay fields. No mad dashes through dry cornstalks tonight. His anger at Hope’s willful outburst was gone. Instead, Stephen realized he agreed with her.

  After all, the adoptive mother had changed her mind once she discovered an imperfect baby. James said he’d lived at his present foster home for less than a year. Although James liked Mr. and Mrs. Hyde, the couple had taken in four hard-to-place boys in addition to their three natural sons. James hadn’t had enough time to grow too fond of Mrs. Hyde or she of him.

  Seven sons, he mused. Just think how much an Amish farmer could accomplish with seven sons. Halting on the path, he turned his face skyward. “Forgive me, Lord. That was a self-centered thought. I should be thinking about the welfare of the boy, not how much help he’d be with chores.”

  But the fact remained that James seemed to enjoy working the land, milking cows, and helping his sisters in the garden. He hadn’t even complained when the two of them washed the chicken coop floor. He kept saying, “This sure beats school.”

  Stephen knew it was more than just avoiding homework, boring lectures, and school-yard bullies. He had watched as James stood on the highest point of the Bowman land—Hope’s favorite spot to think and pray—and beat on his chest with his fists, declaring, “I’m king of the world!”

  Stephen assured him he was not. They were merely two of God’s millions of creatures, none more special than any other.

  Last night James had rocked on the porch for hours, listening to night sounds and studying the stars. After Hope and the girls had gone to bed, Stephen watched from the screen door, contemplating whether or not to join the boy. He heard his cell phone ring twice—the phone with a supposed dead battery—but James had ignored it. In the end Stephen had left him alone. Sometimes a man—young or old—needed time to think things through. And James Webb had plenty to ponder.

  How odd they must appear to him with their accents, occasional lapses into Deutsch, and avoidance of technology and the electrical grid. How he must miss the pastimes that had taken the place of strong family bonds. Yet deep inside his heart, Stephen knew the Bowman family had much to offer James.

  He could offer James much. He’d set out merely to be a supportive host, providing a Christian home to a weary traveler who’d lost his way, literally and figuratively. But instead, he’d grown protective and fond of Hope’s son. And if pressed for the truth, that fondness could easily grow into love. Hope’s son—his son—the one the Lord in His infinite mercy had returned to them. At that moment he had never felt so sure about anything . . . and so much in love with his wife.

  Stephen turned and ran all the way to the house. By the time he reached the steps, the house was dark. Hope was probably in their first-floor room, unable to rest until he returned. Faith’s cradle would be at arm’s length. Josie, Emily, and Greta would be asleep in their second-floor bedrooms, dreaming of school or some last-minute summer outing. And James, up in the attic? What thoughts occupied a fifteen-year-old Englischer’s mind in the night? Was he eager to return to civilization tomorrow or sad that his fate had been radically changed many years ago?

  Toeing off his boots, Stephen crept through the silent house to their bedroom. He undressed and slipped under the cool top sheet. “Are you still awake?”

  “Of course I am.” Hope was facing his side of the bed. “I’m sorry about stomping my foot and not listening to reason. If Emily had behaved that way, she would get no candy for a month.”

  Chuckling, he reached for her hand in the dark. When he found it, he brought it to his lips for a tender kiss. “You might have acted rashly, but you’re not wrong to want the boy in our lives. I’m willing to do everything in my power to convince the bishop and ministerial brethren of the soundness of reuniting James with us. I’ll speak to his foster mother and caseworker, even fight for him in an English courtroom if necessary.”

  “You would go up against my father?” Her words floated on the humid night air.

  “Silas Klobentz doesn’t intimidate me. This is our family and the boy is part of it, if he wishes to be.” Silence spun out between them for several minutes. A light breeze stirred the curtains, bringing welcome relief to his overheated skin.

  Then she spoke in a choked voice. “Thank you, ehemann.”

  Stephe
n kissed her fingers a second time. “But please remember the choice must be his. James may not want to stay, whether he remains English or not. We can’t force him or make him feel obligated. We must not add to his burdens.”

  “I understand. I’ll try not to get my hopes up, and let’s not say anything to the girls for now. But I will pray—that’s one thing I can do.”

  “I will too. God needs to hear how grateful we are for this blessing.”

  Hope had never known two weeks to pass so slowly in her entire life. Stephen was busy harvesting corn from sunup to sundown with the help of some district members. Emily and Josie started a new school year, while poor Greta moped around the house without her sisters or her new brother.

  Because James Webb was gone—back with his foster family in Philadelphia.

  Following Stephen’s advice, Hope said nothing about their desire for him to live permanently with them. If they were unsuccessful, it would only be one more setback in a long line of disappointments. She had tried to convey how glad she was he came to visit. She encouraged him to return as often as his caseworker permitted. Stephen thanked him profusely for his help with the hay harvest, echoing her sentiments. And the girls? Shy Josie kissed his cheek and Emily hugged him around the waist, refusing to let go, and little Greta had cried inconsolably.

  James had blushed from all the attention. He had returned his sisters’ hugs and shaken Stephen’s hand vigorously. Only with Hope was the boy reticent. He didn’t approach her until the taxicab blew its horn. Then he extended his hand and shook it briefly, thanking her for her hospitality as though she were a hostess at a garden party. And he had called her Hope.

  What had she expected? Mamm, I love it here and wish I could stay forever? He threw his duffel bag into the trunk along with her bag of snacks, declined her offer of several apple pies, and didn’t glance through the rearview window as the cab drove away. After he arrived home, he had neither called nor written.