Healed by the Amish Nanny
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Virginia Wise
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Chapter One
Sadie Lapp’s fingers tightened around the handle of her suitcase as she stared up at the large, foreboding farmhouse. Dark, peeling paint clung to the weather-beaten walls and shutters. Overgrown hedges blocked the first-floor windows. Sadie listened to the sound of hoofbeats fading in the distance as the bishop’s horse and buggy slowly wound down the country road, away from her. She turned her head and watched him disappear over a faraway hill, surrounded by sweeping fields of golden wheat and yellow feed corn.
She was alone with strangers now.
Well, not strangers, exactly. Vernon Kauffman and his family were members of the church district, but they never mingled on church Sundays after the service. And they never dropped in on anyone on visiting Sundays. The widower, along with his three children and sister, kept to himself, isolated on his farm at the far edge of the district, away from any neighbors.
A muggy July breeze ruffled the cornstalks in the field beside the house, whipped against Sadie’s purple cape dress, and sent a wave through the dead, brown grass. She hugged herself as a chill ran down her spine. The wind died down, leaving the farmyard still and silent. Not even the chickens were out. She felt like she had come to the edge of the world.
Sadie frowned and forced herself to take a step toward the front door. She was being silly. Hadn’t she been the one who had insisted on taking a job? Of course, she had never intended to work for the Kauffmans, that was certainly sure. Vernon’s dark eyes and hard expression intimidated her, and she had always felt relieved that he didn’t come round on visiting Sundays.
Maybe her daed had been right. He had warned her it wouldn’t be easy to move away from home for a job, even if she was headstrong and full of spirit. In fact, it was that headstrong spirit that had gotten her in this mess in the first place. She had longed for her life to begin and had jumped at the first chance to get away from home. She had pushed her father, Abram, until he relented.
“I won’t allow you to work for the Englisch under any circumstances,” Abram had insisted, but eventually he agreed that Sadie could become a live-in nanny for a good Amish family—if Bishop Amos approved. “Young girls shouldn’t leave home at all,” Abram had said with an exasperated sigh. “But if you won’t hear reason and insist on running off to find work, then you have to go through the bishop. He’ll make sure you go to a gut Amish household where you’ll be under a godly, watchful eye.”
“But, Daed, I’m twenty-two years old,” Sadie had pointed out. “That isn’t so young. And I’m doing this because we need the money. I’m trying to help our family. I’m not running off. I’m being responsible, ain’t so?” Sadie had been responsible for so long that sometimes she felt she might burst. She had looked after her six younger siblings since she was old enough to tie a shoelace. Now that her younger sister had grown up enough to take Sadie’s place, Sadie saw a chance to help her family in a new way—a way that might give her a little more freedom. But her daed sure didn’t see it that way.
Abram’s eyes had narrowed when she pointed out these facts. His fingers had run through his long salt-and-pepper beard as he studied her. “We both know you’ve got a wayward spirit about you, what with all that artistic nonsense that you do.”
“But the bishop approves of my paintings. He says they don’t go against the Ordnung. I don’t sign them or seek attention for them. And the money I get from selling them at the Millers’ gift shop has helped our family.”
Abram had grunted as his fingers kept sliding through his beard. Sadie had shifted in her chair under her father’s long, hard stare. A moment had passed before Abram had spoken again. “Like I said, Bishop Amos will send you to a gut family. They’ll keep you on the straight and narrow. Otherwise they’ll send you back to us. If that happens, you can be sure I’ll keep you on the right path.”
Sadie had swallowed all the words she wanted to say. She knew they would be wasted on her father. Instead, she would let the frustration flow into her next painting. The colors would be bright red, the paint strokes jagged. “Oll recht, Daed,” she had murmured, then shut her mouth tightly before the words she really wanted to say slipped out.
Sadie had not been able to contain her excitement after the decision was made that she could get a job. Her heart had knocked around her chest for the next three days, until the bishop showed up on the doorstep of her family’s yellow farmhouse. “You’ve found me something?” Sadie had asked, her heart flip-flopping faster than ever.
“Ya.” The bishop had smiled at her as he took off his straw hat and scratched the bald spot on his head. He was a small, wizened man and Sadie had to look down at him to meet his eyes, which crinkled at the corners as he grinned. “Vernon Kauffman has need of you.”
That was when Sadie’s excitement disappeared as quickly as a bucket of kitchen scraps thrown in the pigpen.
“Ach, nee, I couldn’t. He’s...” Sadie had looked away, embarrassed to think so badly of an Amish brother.
“I know he’s not the friendliest sort, but that won’t keep him from being a gut employer. He’s a gut man, even if he does have some unusual ways about him.” Bishop Amos had looked amused then and added, “Maybe you two will see eye to eye, ya? After all, you don’t think like everyone else around here either, ain’t so?”
“Being an artist is different than being a—” Sadie had cut herself off. That sentence was not going to end well.
“A recluse?” Bishop Amos had cocked his head and looked at her, waiting for her to say more.
Sadie had wanted to say, a strange man who makes me feel like he can see right through me. Instead she had shaken her head. “I just don’t know if it’s a gut fit, that’s all.” Her eyes darted to her father. Surely he would back her up. Hadn’t he wanted to keep her at home, under his supervision, in the first place?
But instead, Abram had nodded thoughtfully. “I trust your judgement on this, Amos. Vernon runs a gut household. And his sister, Arleta, is a stickler for the rules. They aren’t a friendly sort, that’s certain sure, but they will keep a close eye on my Sadie. She won’t go astray.”
Bishop Amos slapped his straw hat against his thigh. “Gut. I’m glad we can all agree on this. I am certain sure it will be for the best.” He gave Sadie a reassuring glance. “For everyone.”
Sadie’s mother, Ada, had been just as hesitant as Sadie but would never question her husband or the bishop. So she had sent Sadie away with a new quilt, a sandwich wrapped in wax paper and a Bible verse written in careful cursive on a scrap of paper. God is with you wherever you go, it read. Her mother’s lip had trembled as they hugged goodbye and her arms squeezed tighter than ever before, but the only thing she said was, “Danki. You have always sacrificed for this family. Just keep following the rules and you’ll be oll recht.”
At the last moment her father had stepped up to the buggy and put a steady hand on Sadie’s arm. “You’ll do well and...” His deep brown eyes had flickered with emotion that Sadie rarely saw, and she knew her father was struggling to remain stoic. He cleared his throat, looked away and added gruffly, “And I’m proud of you, dochder.” Then he gave the horse a gentle slap on the rump. “Git on, now,” he said to the mare before quickly turning on his heels and striding back toward the farmhouse. Sadie’s father rarely spoke well of her; seeing a glimmer of how much he cared beneath his tough, no-nonsense exterior had given her the strength to face the unknown road ahead.
After the long buggy ride to the far outskirts of Bluebird Hills, that conversation with her family felt a lifetime away. And now, standing in the overgrown grass of the Kauffman’s empty farmyard, Sadie didn’t want to think of her family anymore. As claustrophobic as her home made her feel—there was never any privacy, and always another chore to get done—she wished with all her might to be back in that yellow farmhouse, safe and sound with all the familiar annoyances.
Sadie took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other until she reached the front steps of the Kauffman house. Her black athletic shoes slapped against each worn stair, echoing into the silence. When she reached the wide, wraparound porch, the wooden floorboards creaked beneath her weight. She wondered where everyone was. Shouldn’t they have come out to greet her?
Sadie swallowed hard, smoothed her apron, straightened her prayer kapp and knocked on the front door.
Vernon Kauffman saw the trail of dust billowing up from the long, winding dirt road that led to his house. He paused, leaned against his pitchfork and stared into the distance. The new nanny had arrived. No one else would show up at his farm at this hour—or any hour, for that matter. The rest of the church district had given up on him long ago. And that was just fine with him.
Vernon squinted into the sun as he studied the slow-moving buggy headed away from his land, back toward the heart of Bluebird Hills. He couldn’t make out the features of the girl who had stepped out of it, nor did he want to. Better she had never come. He shook his head and readjusted his grip on the pitchfork. Best get back to work. No need to stand and stare. She wouldn’t last long anyway. It wouldn’t take much time before he scared her away, like all the other nannies. Not intentionally, of course. He had no ill will toward any of them. Thankfully, Bishop Amos must have recognized this, since he was giving the Kauffman family another chance with a new nanny. But Vernon didn’t expect anything to be different this time. Young women didn’t take to him for some reason. Maybe it was his refusal to chat and smile like other men did when they wanted to put someone at ease. He didn’t see the need to coddle anyone, no matter their age or disposition. Small talk and fake smiles didn’t put food on the table or clothes on his children’s backs. All it did was raise people’s expectations—which he would surely disappoint.
Maybe, if he were lucky, this nanny would understand the value of quiet and solitude, just like he did. Unlikely. But he could always hope. And, if he were really lucky, she would be meek and unquestioning, a gut Amish girl who wouldn’t bother him and could fit into his household without much fuss. Surely Gott knew that was what he needed and would send it his way. Being left alone wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
His wife had been a gut, upright Amish girl. She had been perfect for him—taciturn and stern. Someone who followed rules and never questioned the predictable rhythms of life. Everyone had known where they stood with her and what to expect. Vernon threw a pitchfork of alfalfa hay into the wagon and frowned. He didn’t want to think about Lorna. He never wanted to think about her again. So he emptied his mind of everything but the warmth of the sun, the itchy heat of his straw hat against his forehead and the buzz of an insect circling near his ear. But the sharp ache in his chest remained.
That ache never went away, no matter how hard he worked to shove it aside.
A door slammed in the distance. Vernon’s eyes moved across a yellow-green cornfield to the dawdi haus sitting in the shadow of the farmhouse. Arleta’s silhouette filled the doorway, hands on hips. He couldn’t make out his older sister’s expression from this distance, but he could imagine it. Her eyes would be narrowed, her lips tight. She didn’t want a new nanny on the farm any more than he did. But what choice did they have? Arleta couldn’t take care of his children after she’d been injured in the buggy accident that killed his wife.
Arleta’s face turned toward the fields and Vernon could feel her eyes on him, hard and unyielding. He could feel the blame radiating from that look, even though he could not see her clearly. He knew her well enough to know what she was feeling.
His family had been destroyed by his careless decision to take them out on icy roads. He would live with the consequences for the rest of his life. Vernon turned back to his pitchfork, his expression stoic. He was getting exactly what he deserved. In the distance, he heard the dawdi haus door slam shut again and knew Arleta had gone back inside without greeting the new nanny. He would have to try to make the young woman feel welcome on his own, hard as that would be.
“Daed?” a small voice called out. Vernon’s heart constricted at the sweet, innocent sound. A moment later, his five-year-old daughter skipped out from the long rows of sweet corn, scampered into the field of freshly mowed alfalfa and looked up at him with a smile. Her apron and face were smudged with dirt.
“You shouldn’t be in the fields alone,” Vernon said. If Lorna were still alive, she would be keeping an eye on the girl to make sure she was safe.
Lydia’s grin disappeared and she looked down. “I wanted to see you.”
“You’ll see me at supper time,” Vernon said, keeping his hands on his pitchfork. He wanted to reach out and pull her into a bear hug. But she looked so small and vulnerable that he didn’t trust himself not to cry. He had been holding his feelings in for so long that he knew the smallest act of love might break him. The best thing for Lydia was to see that her father was tough and resilient. Wouldn’t that make her feel safe after the loss she had endured?
Lydia kicked a clod of dirt with her toe. “I want to go down to the creek today. I thought maybe you could come with me.” Her big brown eyes darted up to his with a hopeful expression.
Vernon resisted the urge to drop his pitchfork, take her hand and head for the creek right then. He shook his head. “Nee. I’ve got to finish my work before sundown.”
“But all you ever do is work, Daed.”
“It’s the Amish way, ain’t so?”
“Ya.” Lydia frowned and kicked another clod of dirt with her bare foot. “But the other daeds go swimming with their kinner.”
Vernon sighed. “Ya, well, maybe another time.”
“Don’t you want to spend time with me, Daed?”
Vernon froze. How could he put the storm of emotions inside of him into words that a child would understand? He cleared his throat and looked away. “Of course I want to spend time with you. It’s just not possible right now.”
Vernon motioned toward the farmyard with his chin. “See that fraa over there?”
Lydia nodded.
“She’s your new kinnsmaad. Go on and say hello. She’ll take care of you.”
Lydia’s brow crinkled and she looked back at her father. “I’d rather go to the creek with you.”
Vernon frowned and turned back to his work. “Like I said, I’ll see you at supper time.”
He didn’t watch Lydia leave, but he could hear her little bare feet pounding the dirt as she scampered away. He forced his attention onto the job at hand and told himself he was doing the right thing.
Sadie heard footsteps slap the bare earth and turned to see a small, skinny child with big brown eyes and a button nose galloping out of the wheat field and into the farmyard. She stepped back from the front door and trotted down the porch steps to meet the girl. “Hello!” Sadie shouted in a voice loud enough to carry across the overgrown hedges and chicken coops.
“Are you my new kinnsmaad?” The child pushed a tangled strand of dark blond hair from her face and tried to stuff it under her kapp.
“Ya,” Sadie said and flashed a relieved grin. “You must be Lydia.”
Lydia put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “How did you know?”
“Bishop Amos told me a gut little maedel lives here.”
“Ya!” Lydia’s eyes brightened. “That’s me!”
Sadie glanced over Lydia’s head. “Where are the grown-ups? I knocked on the door but nobody answered.”
“Daed is in the fields. He’s always out in the fields. He works all the time.”
Sadie’s attention moved to the overgrown hedges lining the house. Vernon might be working all day, but he wasn’t taking care of the yard, that was certain sure. Sadie knew she shouldn’t judge, but it was hard not to. She reminded herself that running a farm alone would be more than enough to keep a man busy, especially with three children and a disabled sister to care for. “Lydia, where are your brudres and your aenti?”
Lydia shrugged. “I don’t know where Ned and Newt are. And Aenti Arleta is probably in the dawdi haus. She doesn’t leave it much.”
“Newt?”
“His real name is Jonathon, but he’ll only answer to Newt. Daed gets frustrated about it sometimes.”
“Ya.” Sadie stifled a smile. “Unusual nickname.”
“It fits him,” Lydia said in a matter-of-fact tone, then slipped her hand in Sadie’s. Sadie warmed at the soft, sticky touch. She could feel a layer of grime on the girl’s palm but didn’t mind. Lydia was a sweet girl who clearly needed more attention. Sadie was beginning to understand why the bishop had sent her here.
“Why don’t you show me around?” Sadie asked.
“Oll recht,” Lydia said, then continued to chatter as if they had always known one another. “Ned is a nickname for Nathaniel. He would have been called Nate, but there were already three other Nates in the family.” Lydia began counting off with her free hand. “A first cousin, a second cousin and a great-uncle.” She held up three fingers. “That’s three whole Nates. It was too confusing. So he’s called Ned.”
Sadie nodded. “That happens a lot in Amish families, ain’t so? We like to use the same names.”
Lydia nodded. Her expression looked like she considered herself an expert in the matter. “Ya. We only have one other Sadie though, and she moved to Indiana.”
“We don’t have any. I get to be the only Sadie in my family.”
“Does that make you lonely?”
Sadie giggled. “What a funny question.” Then she stopped smiling and shook her head. “Not a bad question, you understand. It’s a gut one, just a funny one.”
Lydia nodded again. “I understand. I like to be funny, but I’m not as gut at it as my brudres.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting them.”
Lydia made a face.
Sadie wondered about Lydia’s reaction, but thought it was best to ignore it. “To answer your question, I like being the only Sadie in my family. I feel like I’m kind of different from the rest of them, so it makes sense.”
Lydia led Sadie around the corner of the farmhouse, still holding tight to her hand.
“How are you different?” Lydia asked. “You look the same as everyone else.” She squinted up at Sadie. “Except you’re prettier than most people. Your eyes are really blue. But Aenti Arleta says it isn’t gut to be pretty. It’s gut to be Plain.”
Sadie thought about it as they stepped over a cracked, overturned flowerpot. “Ach, I’m not talking about looks.” But Sadie’s father had warned her that a man with bad intentions might single her out because she was pretty and had such a gut, trusting heart. You have to be shrewd, he had said.
Even so, Sadie knew her looks were not what defined her. “I guess what I meant is that I see things in the world that other people don’t.”
“Like what?” Lydia asked
Sadie pointed upward. “What do you see up there, in the sky?”
“Um...” Lydia scrunched up her face. “Clouds?”
Sadie smiled and her eyes took on a faraway look. “Ya. But I also see a unicorn running toward a waterfall.” She motioned to a clump of puffy white clouds floating in a field of blue. “See, there...” Her hand swept across the sky. “And there?”
“Mmm.” Lydia’s face scrunched up a little tighter. “Maybe.”
Sadie laughed. “You can see whatever you want in the clouds. Maybe you see something else.”
Lydia looked from the sky to Sadie. “Seeing stuff in the clouds makes you different?”
“Nee. But seeing lots of things in our everyday world that other people don’t does. In the Englisch world they call it being an artist. We just call it being different.”
“Lydia doesn’t need to hear anything about the Englisch world,” a stern male voice said.
Sadie jerked her attention from the sky to see Vernon Kauffman standing in front of her, holding a jug. They had reached a water pump beside a sprawling red barn and Sadie hadn’t even noticed. She always had her head in the clouds—this time literally. “Nee. I didn’t mean... Of course she doesn’t... What I meant—”
Vernon stared at Sadie as she sputtered to a stop and stood still as a statue, staring back at him. His eyes were so dark that Sadie felt she could slip into them and sink into oblivion. He did not blink or flinch. He just kept staring. Sadie was the first to look away. Her gaze shifted back and forth across the farmyard, trying to find a comfortable place to rest.
But those dark eyes drew her back again and her gaze returned to the man’s face. She realized it was a handsome face, even though it was weathered and defined by sharp lines and hard angles. The jawline was pronounced, the nose Roman. Sadie had never been this close to Vernon and she certainly had never studied his face before. She noticed her heart was beating fast and she took a step back. Standing so close to him stirred strange feelings in her that she couldn’t understand. Was it fear? Intimidation? No, it was something else that she had no name for. And the strangest thing about it was that she didn’t want to stop feeling it. Perhaps it was because she had never met anyone who could stare like that—so cold and aloof, but without any hint of cruelty.
Vernon sighed and screwed the lid onto his water jug. “I guess we can’t expect any better. No other kinnsmaad will work here anymore.”
“I am a plenty gut worker, Vernon,” Sadie said as she raised her chin in response to the insinuation that she was lacking.
He just stared at her with a look that seemed more sad than judgmental. Sadie was the first to turn away.
“Daed,” Lydia said, dropping Sadie’s hand and throwing her arms around her father’s waist. “I thought you weren’t coming in until supper time.”
Vernon looked down at the girl and his face softened. “Just came back for a drink of water. My jug was empty.”
“Can you stay?”
“Nee.” He patted her on the head, then motioned to Sadie to take the girl’s hand back.
Sadie saw the disappointment on Lydia’s face as she eased the girl away from her father.
“I have to go,” he said and began to turn away.
“Wait,” Sadie asked. “You said no one else will work here. Why not?”
Vernon stopped and his expression shifted as he turned his attention back to Sadie. Bishop Amos had mentioned that Vernon was thirty-three, but his demeanor made him seem even older. He carried a casual air of authority like one of the church elders.
“Why do you think?” he asked in a flat tone.
“Uh, I, uh, don’t know...” Sadie had no idea how to answer such a delicate question, especially while under the scrutiny of that hard stare.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Vernon answered quietly.
Sadie forced a smile. “I’m sure it will be oll recht.” She squeezed Lydia’s hand. “It’s been great getting to meet Lydia.” The little girl squeezed back and grinned.
“Ya. Our Lydia is a gut maedel.” Vernon’s eyes lingered on the little girl for moment as a wistful expression passed over her face, then he frowned, jerked his attention away from Lydia and nodded toward the farmhouse. “Time to get dinner on, ain’t so?”
“Oh. Oll recht...” Sadie stood still for a moment. “Are you going to show me around the kitchen?”
“Don’t you know how to cook?”
“Ya. Of course.”
“Then you don’t need my help.”
“Nee. I didn’t mean...” Sadie cleared her throat. She usually felt at ease around people, but Vernon brought all her secret insecurities to the surface. “I just thought you might want to show me where everything is.”
“Lydia can help you with that.”
“Ya,” Lydia piped up. “I’m a big girl.”
“I’ll see you at dinner,” Vernon said, then turned away and strode back toward the yellow-green field bordering the barn. Sadie studied his broad shoulders and clenched jaw as he retreated. She felt an unexpected tug on her heart. There was so much pain in this family, simmering just beneath the surface. What had gone wrong? And more importantly, what could she do to help them?
