“Come on, you can do one more.” Ruth tugged at Maisy’s arm. “Don’t be a party pooper.”

  The books were front and center in two long rows on the first table situated on the driveway. “Oh, how perfect.” Kate elbowed Maisy. “Just your cup of tea.”

  Indeed they were. Two long rows of paperback romances neatly arranged with spines up. Maisy ran her finger over the authors’ names. Kim Vogel Sawyer, Denise Hunter, Rachel Hauck, Janette Oke, and more. All romances. All sweet. She didn’t recognize the titles so they weren’t ones she’d already read. She’d had nothing to read for more than a month now. The sweet release of a good story—whether a western, a mail-order bride, or a contemporary tussle over a cupcake shop—called her name. The sign read 25 cents or 5 for $1. The price was right too.

  “We’ll take the whole lot.” Kate waved a five-dollar bill at the owner, a gray-haired, portly lady decked out in a matching purple sweatshirt and sweatpants. Even her sneakers and her scrunchie were purple. “Do you have any more books beside these?”

  “That’s it, my complete library.” The woman jerked her thumb toward the house. “I had to get rid of them so I could make room for more. I’m a romance junkie.”

  Like Maisy. “Nee, don’t buy them for me.” She pulled on Kate’s sleeve like a toddler. “I told myself I wouldn’t read any more romances. They’re so unrealistic. They just get you into trouble.”

  “You can’t blame romances for your current situation.” Kate stacked the books in a box provided by the romance-reading Englisher. “These are just for fun, and you know the difference between real life and fiction.”

  She was right. Kate usually was. “Then let me pay for them.”

  “Consider them an early birthday present.”

  “My birthday isn’t until March.”

  “A very early present.”

  “Danki.”

  A person didn’t get far arguing with Kate. Maisy carried the box to the van and returned to find a like-new pair of black sneakers in her size for only two dollars. A foray into the garage where more tables had been set up revealed several pristine composition books and half-a-dozen packs of unopened, sharpened pencils. “I retired from teaching school last spring,” the lady in purple explained. “I’ll give you the whole kit and caboodle for five bucks.”

  Another bargain. That was the beauty of garage sales. Maisy hugged the writing supplies to her chest. Something about making lists helped her get through each day. What would Bryan have to say about that?

  Ruth bought two bed sets for ten dollars each and they were officially done.

  “It’s a gut thing that was the last sale. I’ve had it.” Ruth plopped onto the van seat and wiggled out of her sneakers. “I think my feet are swollen to twice their normal size.”

  “So are mine and I’m not even expecting.” Kate dug cold bottled waters from her ice chest and handed them out. “We need to stay hydrated. That will keep our skin young and dewy.”

  Ruth burst out laughing. Maisy joined in. “Have you been reading those Englisch magazines again?”

  Kate grinned and leaned her head against the headrest. “Maybe. Drink your water.”

  So they did. “I feel more dewy already.” Vicky joined Ruth in removing her shoes. “I’m sorry if my feet stink. They’re sweaty.”

  “You’re among friends,” Ruth murmured. Her head lolled to one side. “So tired . . .”

  The ride home was much quieter than the ride to Hutchinson. Maisy leaned her head against the window and watched the countryside whizz by. The air wafting from the vents smelled of pine. It mixed with the car scent of vinyl and whatever cleaner Doreen used to scrub the upholstery. A nap would be nice, but sleep didn’t come. Maisy had friends in Haven. They accepted her despite the error of her ways. In fact they embraced her. If she went back to Jamesport, would she still have friends there? She’d written to a couple of them. So far no response. The girls who’d been her classmates in school would soon join the faith and get married. They’d wonder what happened to her baby. She’d have to explain. They’d give her that perplexed look that even Ruth had given her. How could she?

  Maisy opened her eyes. She peeked at Vicky. Her head nodded forward. Occasionally, she jerked and raised it. But seconds later she flopped forward again. Poor thing. She was tired. How tired would she be once she had a baby? Maisy’s baby.

  Maisy turned back to the window. If she felt this empty now, how would she feel when the day came and she no longer carried her bopli in her womb?

  Gott, help me to surrender all. Thy will be done.

  So much more needed to be said, but that short prayer was the best she could do. She snuck a notebook from the plastic bag the lady in purple had kindly supplied. A recap of the day’s events would pass the time until they were home. To Amos’s house. It would be best to stop thinking of it as home.

  Twenty minutes later they rolled into Haven. Doreen dropped off Kate first, then Vicky, who thanked all of them for a wonderful time. “Danki for including me. It’s been a long time since I laughed so much.”

  “We’ll talk soon.” Maisy waved at Isaac, who stood on the porch waiting for his wife. “My next day off is Sunday. Maybe we can get together in the afternoon.”

  “Wunderbarr.” Vicky waved at them until the van turned off their dirt road and headed for Amos and Ruth’s house.

  A quick five minutes later, Doreen whipped the van on to the gravel road that took them right up to the Plank house. Someone had parked an oversized fire-engine-red diesel pickup truck at an angle next to the long row of yellow and pink rosebushes in front of the porch.

  “We’re here.” Maisy patted Ruth’s knee. “You have company.”

  Her cousin jerked upright. Her eyes opened. She rubbed them and yawned so widely her jaw popped. “Company? I hope we have enough leftover meatloaf to feed whoever it is.”

  “We can do meatloaf sandwiches. It’ll go further.”

  They gathered up their purchases, thanked Doreen, who’d been paid up-front, and headed into the house. It was strangely quiet. The children weren’t in the living room. Amos sat in one of the recliners. A tall, thin lady dressed in a black western-style shirt with pearl snaps, Wrangler jeans, and black cowboy boots sat on the couch across from him. Turquoise-and-silver earrings dangled from her ears. Turquoise rings decorated several fingers.

  They both rose when Maisy and Ruth approached. Maisy adjusted the box of books. They were heavy. The woman seemed vaguely familiar with her dark-brown eyes and curly wheat-colored hair. Then her full lips turned up in a smile that brought out her dimples. Nate’s dimples.

  Maisy dropped the box.

  “You must be Maisy.” The woman trotted across the room. She knelt and began picking up books. “I’m Sue Ellen Taylor, Nate’s mother. I came to see about my grandchild.”

  Chapter 27

  “My grandchild.”

  The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked, ticked, ticked so loud in the silence that followed Mrs. Taylor’s announcement. Thoughts ran pell-mell through Maisy’s befuddled brain. Nate’s mother wanted to talk about her grandchild. Sue Ellen Taylor had driven from Jamesport, Missouri, to Haven, Kansas, to talk to Maisy about her grandchild.

  “Come to the kitchen, Ruth. Lottie has the kinner upstairs playing.” Amos strode toward the hallway that led to the kitchen. “Let’s give Maisy and her visitor some privacy to talk.”

  No, please don’t. Please don’t.

  “I could fix some coffee or some iced tea for you.” Ruth edged toward the hallway. “You’ve come a long way. I have apple pie made fresh yesterday.”

  “You’re so sweet, but I’m fine.” Mrs. Taylor dropped a Denise Hunter book into the box. “I’m watching my carbs and my curves.”

  Ruth telegraphed Maisy a hang-in-there look and followed her husband from sight, leaving Maisy all alone with Nate’s mother. He’d told her about the baby. Did that mean he’d decided to push being a part of his baby’s life? He was English. A relationship between them would never work. They’d agreed on that. If Mrs. Taylor was here, where was Nate? Maisy glanced around. “Is Nate here? Did he come with you?”

  “No.” Mrs. Taylor didn’t meet Maisy’s gaze, but her cheeks turned pink. The chunks of turquoise in her necklace clinked when she moved. She smelled like flowers. “He’s at school. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  If it wasn’t his idea, then whose? What exactly did Mrs. Taylor want? Did she have rights in this situation? What would she think of Maisy’s decision to give the baby up for adoption? Blood rushing in her ears, Maisy sank to her knees and stacked books in the box. “It’s okay. You don’t have to help me.”

  “You shouldn’t be carrying a heavy box in your condition.” Mrs. Taylor pushed Maisy’s hands away. A faintly condescending expression descended on her carefully made-up face. “Romance novels. I would think you’d had enough romance for two or three girls.”

  “It’s just something I do to pass the time.” Heat scorched Maisy’s cheeks. She picked up the last of the books and slid the box toward the corner. “It’s good for my vocabulary.”

  Maisy moved to the rocking chair farthest from the couch. Instead of going back to her old seat, Mrs. Taylor chose the glider rocker only a few feet from the rocking chair. She clasped her hands in her lap. “Nate didn’t tell me about your situation until recently. He came home unexpectedly on a Friday night. He seemed way too tuckered out. I thought it was because of all the studying and burning the candle at both ends the way college students do.”

  “But it wasn’t?” Hearing about Nate’s college life wasn’t at the top of Maisy’s list. “Is he sick?”

  “He said he was having trouble sleeping.” Mrs. Taylor twisted a ring sporting a diamond the size of Maisy’s big toe around her ring finger. “He sat in my kitchen that Friday night and poured his heart out to me while his dad was at a poker game. He told me he feels guilty about letting you come to Kansas by yourself—”

  “Mrs. Taylor—”

  “Sue Ellen.”

  “Sue Ellen, he doesn’t have anything to feel guilty about. We agreed that me being Amish was an obstacle that couldn’t be overcome. I plan to be baptized after the baby is born. I’m not leaving my faith. I’ve realized I need it more than ever.”

  It was true. The bigger the baby grew inside her, the clearer it became. Only God was big enough to carry Maisy through this. He showed mercy and grace even when a person didn’t deserve it.

  “I understand it’s totally unacceptable for an Amish woman such as yourself to have a baby out of wedlock. That used to be a moral certainty embraced by everyone. Not so much in this day and age.” Sue Ellen fluffed her curls and brushed back bangs that belonged on a much younger woman. “Now women frequently have babies and raise them on their own as a matter of choice.”

  “Not in my community.”

  “I understand. Which is why I have a proposition for you.” She smoothed her shirt collar, first one side, then the other. “Give the baby to me and my husband to raise until Nate finishes college. In four years he’ll come back to Jamesport. He can be a part of his baby’s life, and you won’t have to worry anymore about trying to raise a baby in a culture that sees what you’ve done as a terrible sin.”

  The tick-tick-tick of the clock resounded in Maisy’s ears. Sunny wound her lanky body around Maisy’s legs. She picked her up. Sunny settled in her lap and purred. Laughter floated down the hallway from the kitchen. Fussing—likely Nicholas—wandered down the stairs. The baby in her womb now belonged to Isaac and Vicky. The image of Vicky’s glowing face in the van earlier in the day shone in Maisy’s mind. She would be a good mother. The baby would have a Plain mother and father.

  “We thought you would be thrilled with our offer, truly.” Frowning, Sue Ellen leaned forward. “My husband and I thought this would be a perfect solution to your problem. And Nate would be able to focus on his education, knowing his baby is with grandparents who love him—do you know the baby’s gender yet?”

  Not trusting her voice, Maisy shook her head.

  “We can find out later. We’ll have a big gender-reveal party. Those are so much fun.” Sue Ellen clapped as if the fun had already begun. “You have nothing to worry about. You can stay with us until you have the baby. Then you can go home to your family. Problem solved.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Taylor—”

  “Sue Ellen.”

  “Sue Ellen. I can’t do that.” Maisy chewed on her lower lip. How could she put this so Nate’s mother understood without being offended? So she understood how important it was. “I want my baby to be raised Plain.”

  Sue Ellen’s forehead wrinkled. She cocked her head to one side. “That’s a funny way of putting it. You mean you plan to raise my grandchild in the Amish church?”

  “I won’t be raising my baby.” Maisy’s heart slammed against her rib cage like it wanted out. Out of this situation. There was no way out. “I’ve decided to let an Amish couple here in Haven adopt my baby. They can’t have babies of their own—”

  “You mean yours and Nate’s baby.” Sue Ellen’s scowl raked Maisy from head to toe. “You plan to give Nate’s baby away to strangers?”

  “They’re not strangers to me.”

  “How long have you known them?”

  “A few weeks, but—”

  “You dated my son for at least six months. You know him well enough to have his child. Does this couple have the means to support and care for my grandchild like we do? My husband is a successful dairy farmer. I design western wear clothes and jewelry quite successfully.”

  “It’s not about money.”

  “It’s about religion.” Sue Ellen shook her head so hard her earrings jangled. “We’re members in good standing at our church. We believe in the same God you do. We believe Jesus Christ died on the cross so we can have eternal life. What more do you want?”

  Confusion twisted Maisy’s tongue. If only she’d taken those baptism classes. She couldn’t debate theology with this woman. Or with anyone. The Plain faith was a way of life. Her baby wouldn’t grow up to wear jeans, dance, play music, go to movies, drive cars, watch TV, and attend college. If it was a girl, she wouldn’t wear the jewelry or clothes designed by her grandmother. Either way, her baby’s life would be a simple one filled with faith, family, and community.

  “I’ve made a commitment to this couple. They’re desperate for a baby. They’ve already had one birth mother change her mind. It nearly broke them.” Maisy poured heart and soul into the words. Sue Ellen had to understand. She had to agree. “You’ve already had your children. You’ve raised them. Your children will have other grandbabies for you to spoil. You don’t need mine.”

  “He’s not yours alone. He’s also Nate’s.”

  “Nate agreed to let go.”

  “He didn’t sign anything, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a signed contract with these people?”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “Good.” Sue Ellen grabbed her purse and stood. “I’ll discuss this with my son. I’m sure when he knows about your intentions, he’ll want to step forward and claim his parental rights.”

  What rights would they be? He’d agreed they could never marry and be a family. Would he change his mind now that his mother was involved? “Nate agreed our relationship could never work. We can’t marry.”

  “Heavens no. I told him I totally agreed with his decision not to marry you. You’re from two different worlds.” Sue Ellen tucked the fringed leather purse’s strap over her shoulder. Her long fingernails were painted a pale pink. “I plan to consult a lawyer about his rights as the biological father. I’m sure he’s willing to take a paternity test. If you don’t want the baby, he does.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want the baby.” The world spun topsy-turvy, making Maisy’s stomach lurch every time it rolled downhill and tumbled sideways, back and forth. She put her hand to her mouth. The taste of fries, hamburger, and chocolate milkshake gagged her. She swallowed and let her hand drop. “A baby needs a father and a mother who are married. Who plan to stay together no matter what trials life brings them.”

  Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit.

  “Isaac and Vicky will love and care for this baby like he’s their own because he will be their own. Nate’s just starting out in life. He’ll get married and have children when he’s ready. That time isn’t now.”

  Sue Ellen’s finely plucked eyebrows rose. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we.”

  Chapter 28

  Lawyers cost money. Plain folks don’t get involved in lawsuits and court cases. Sue Ellen Taylor wanted to take her grandchild. Maisy’s baby would grow up in an English world. Isaac’s and Vicky’s hearts would be broken all over again. They trusted Maisy. They were counting on her.

  The thoughts chased one another around Maisy’s brain at neck-breaking speed until her head threatened to explode. She’d spent most of the night reliving the conversation with Sue Ellen and reframing all her responses into an argument that would convince Sue Ellen not to interfere.

  Maisy had failed again. She’d failed her baby. She deposited a large box of work gloves on the floor next to the shelves in the hardware store’s tool aisle. She paused. What next? Her brain couldn’t hold simple tasks and the amusement park ride of her thoughts in the same small space.

  “Unpack the gloves. Hang them up,” she whispered. “Be good at something.”

  “Are you talking to yourself?” Harvey pushed a wheelbarrow filled with a new style of flashlight he planned to feature in an endcap display. “Don’t worry about it—unless you start answering yourself.”

  “Just muttering to myself, but no, I’m not answering myself. Not yet anyway.” Maisy maneuvered the box’s flaps so they would stay open. As Harvey’s employee, the least she could do was pay attention to her work. “I was going to put these gloves on the aisle with the tools since they’re to be used with construction work. Or do you want all the gloves in one place, like with the gardening gloves?”