She was a little woman. The top of her head wouldn’t reach his chin even if she stood on tiptoe. Apple-cheeked and just a shade on the plump side, she had a cute button nose generously sprinkled with ginger freckles and wide owlish gray-green eyes. She wasn’t a beauty, but she had a sweet face. Why hadn’t he noticed that about her before? Maybe because he usually saw her when she was running after his goats, when she was furious.
He’d been leery when a single woman moved into the small house next to his. It had been an Englisch house before Anne bought it. It took her a while to convert it to meet their Amish rules, but the bishop had been tolerant of her progress because she was single.
She hadn’t set her sights on Joseph the way some of the single women in the community had over the years. He wasn’t the marrying kind. Apparently, Anne wasn’t the marrying kind, either. She had to be close to thirty, if not older. He’d never seen her walking out with any of the unwed men in their Plain community. The only fellow he’d seen hanging around her had been Micah Shetler. He was known as something of a flirt, but she’d never shown any interest in return and Micah had soon stopped coming around.
Anne minded her own business and let Joseph mind his. If it wasn’t for the traffic her produce stand brought in and her dislike of his goats, he would have said she was the perfect neighbor. She was proving to be a godsend today. He pulled his gaze away from her and concentrated on Leah. The baby looked happier than he’d seen her since she arrived. “She seems to be enjoying her bath.”
“I put some baking soda in the water to soothe her itching skin. It will help for a little while. Grab that towel for me, would you, please?” Anne lifted the baby from the water. Joseph jumped up and held the towel wide. He wrapped it around the baby when Anne handed her to him.
“Should I bathe her this way?” How much baking soda? How often? He didn’t want to show his ignorance, so he didn’t ask.
“If her rash doesn’t go away, you can. We need to find out what is causing the rash in the first place. I’m pretty sure she has an allergy to something.”
When he had the baby securely in his arms, Anne picked up the two formula cans. “This is odd.”
“Did I buy the wrong thing?”
“Nay, it’s nothing you did. This is soy formula. It’s often used for babies that are sensitive to cow’s milk–based formulas. I wish I could ask Fannie why Leah is on it. Was it her first choice, or did the baby have trouble with regular formula and so she switched her to soy? It’s puzzling.”
“What difference would it make?” He laid the baby and towel on the table and began drying her. She tried to stuff the fingers of both hands in her mouth.
“If Leah had trouble tolerating regular formula, there isn’t any point in giving her what I have on hand. Do you or Fannie have a milk allergy?”
“Not that I know of.”
Anne stepped up and took over the task of drying and dressing Leah. He happily stood aside.
Leah quickly became dissatisfied with her fingers and started fussing again. He glanced at Leah. “Have you more of that special water?”
“I do, but I think I want to try something else. Do you have any fresh goat’s milk?”
“Nay, the truck collected my milk yesterday evening. I haven’t milked yet this morning. Are you planning to give her goat’s milk?”
“It won’t hurt to try it.”
He had heard of babies being raised on goat’s milk, but he wouldn’t have thought of it. “I can bring you some fresh as soon as I catch a goat. How much do you need?”
“A quart to start with. I’ll have to cook it first. I don’t want to give her raw milk.”
He bristled at her insult. He ran a first-class dairy. “My goats have all been tested for disease and are healthy. I have a permit to sell raw milk and my operation is inspected regularly. I drank raw goat’s milk when I was growing up and it didn’t hurt me.”
She looked him up and down. “I can see it didn’t stunt your growth. I’m not questioning the sanitation of your dairy. I feel babies shouldn’t have raw cow or goat’s milk until they are much older than Leah is. I grew up drinking raw milk, too.”
“Cow’s milk? Maybe that’s what stunted your growth.”
“Very funny,” she snapped, but he detected a sparkle of humor in her eyes.
He folded his arms over his chest. “You don’t like my goats.”
“I’m sure they are wonderful animals.”
“My does are some of the finest milk producers in the state.”
“Joseph, I don’t have to like your goats to make a formula from their milk. Let’s hope Leah can tolerate it. Are you going to go catch a goat or do I have to?”
“I’ve seen you herd goats. You’d still be chasing them tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Make sure you use a very clean container to put the milk in.”
He shook his head as he walked out of her house. If she knew anything about his work, she would know his pails were stainless steel and cleaned with soap, water and bleach twice a day. He took good care of his animals and his equipment. How could she live next door to him and not know that?
Maybe the same way he’d never noticed how pretty her smile was. He hadn’t been inclined to look closely. Until now.
As he crossed the ground between his house and Anne’s, he looked her property over with a critical eye. Some of the siding on her horse barn was loose and the paint was faded. It could use a new coat. The pile of manure outside the barn was overdue for spreading in the fields. Two of the vanes on her windmill clacked as they went around, proving they were loose, too.
He hadn’t noticed things were slipping into disrepair for her. He hadn’t been a very good neighbor. They were all things he could fix in a day or two. As soon as Fannie came for Leah, he would see to the repairs as a way to thank Anne for her kindness to the baby. It was the least he could do.
When Fannie came back.
She would be back. She was later than she’d said she would be, but he was sure she had a good reason. He just wished he knew what it was. Why hadn’t she contacted him? He’d checked the answering machine in the community phone booth out by the highway twice a day for the past two days. He knew she had that number.
Her whispered words, the memory of her tearful face in the car window had flashed into his mind when she didn’t return as promised. The pain and sorrow he had seen in her eyes gave rise to a new doubt in his mind. Had she abandoned her child with him? Each passing hour without word made him worry that she might have done so. It wasn’t right to suspect her of such a thing, but the doubts wouldn’t be silenced.
As always, his goats were happy to see him and frolicked in their pens as he approached. In spite of what Anne thought, his goats were all as tame as kittens. They came when he called them, with Matilda, the oldest female, leading all the others in a group behind her. He selected Jenny from the milling animals and opened the gate leading to his milking barn.
“Jenny, up you go.”
The brown-and-black doe knew the routine. She trotted up the ramp onto the waist-high platform and put her head in the stanchion. He gave her a handful of alfalfa hay and closed the bar that would keep her from pulling her head out if she was finished eating before he was finished milking her. He didn’t bother hooking her to his milking machine. His church allowed the limited use of electricity in some Amish businesses such as Joseph’s dairy. The electric milking machines and refrigeration allowed him to sell his milk as Grade A to Englisch customers for more money. Today he milked Jenny by hand. In less than