wide eyed and bewildered. “Do you think we would let a
man
fend for a baby by himself?” Her tone betrayed how ridiculous she found the idea. “Amish men don’t know much about infants, and they don’t have time to sit around reading books sent home by the hospital.” She talked over her shoulder while washing her hands. “That’s what his family and the community is for. And if he didn’t have me, some other woman in the district would have stepped in to help.” She dried her hands and then offered one to shake. “I’m his aunt, Iris Fisher.”
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise, I’m sure. Why don’t you have a seat?” Iris pointed toward the end of the table not covered with baking supplies. “And that’s I-R-I-S for your report.” She nodded at Mrs. Daly’s clipboard.
Patricia grinned and lowered herself into a chair. “Let me write that down right now. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Iris supplied Patricia with her permanent address, an emergency contact phone number, and the expressed assurance that she would remain in Nathan’s home for as long as she was needed. Mrs. Daly wrote fast and asked few questions because Iris volunteered plenty of information.
Nathan stood in the doorway watching the interview like a reluctant bystander. Fancy-dressed
Englischers
made him nervous. The only
Englischers
he could relax around wore bib overalls, Carhartt jackets, and ball caps advertising a particular brand of tractors.
After a short while, Mrs. Daly glanced up at him. “If I can see little Abraham, I won’t take up too much more of your valuable time.”
“Sure thing,” crowed Iris. “Just follow me. He’s asleep in the front room because the kitchen gets stuffy on baking days.”
Nathan watched the social worker trail after his aunt, subtly peering left and right to see if any wild beasts lurked in dark corners or if other hidden dangers waited to befall an innocent baby. He followed after them, too nervous to return to his chores. What would happen if this overdressed inspector saw something she didn’t like? Would she snatch up Abraham and run out the door to her car, maybe sticking a receipt in his mailbox like an English dry cleaners? He wouldn’t take his eyes off her until she left his property.
“There he is.” Iris pointed toward the bay window. “Inspect all you want.”
Mrs. Daly peeked into a portable crib where the baby slept in blissful repose. The bed had a wind-up mechanism that would rock back and forth, usually long enough to put the tyke to sleep. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “He is a handsome boy.”
“Of course, he is. He’s a Fisher, ain’t he?” Iris grinned at Nathan over Mrs. Daly’s head.
“I’m very sorry, little Abe, but I must lift you out of there.” She reached beneath the lightweight blanket.
“You’re going to wake him?” Iris didn’t sound pleased.
“Have to, I’m afraid. I must estimate his length and weight to make sure he’s gaining weight as he should be. Also, I need to check him for diaper rash.”
“
Diaper rash?
” Iris’ pique rang out loud and clear. “He doesn’t have diaper rash!”
When Mrs. Daly lifted the baby free of the swinging contraption and pulled off his covering, Abraham began to wail with indignation.
“Now you’ve done it,” said Iris. “I’ll fetch a fresh diaper so you can make yourself useful while inspecting his bottom.” Off she hurried, leaving the social worker cooing and jiggling the
boppli
like a proud grandparent.
“I’ll be on the porch if you have more questions for me.” Nathan marched off without waiting for her response. This was a woman’s affair, if it was anybody’s business at all. He couldn’t believe his tax dollars paid a person’s salary to check baby bottoms for a living.
Pouring a cup of coffee, he drank it cold on the porch glider. The longer he rocked, the more irritated he became. What right did the government have
man
fend for a baby by himself?” Her tone betrayed how ridiculous she found the idea. “Amish men don’t know much about infants, and they don’t have time to sit around reading books sent home by the hospital.” She talked over her shoulder while washing her hands. “That’s what his family and the community is for. And if he didn’t have me, some other woman in the district would have stepped in to help.” She dried her hands and then offered one to shake. “I’m his aunt, Iris Fisher.”
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise, I’m sure. Why don’t you have a seat?” Iris pointed toward the end of the table not covered with baking supplies. “And that’s I-R-I-S for your report.” She nodded at Mrs. Daly’s clipboard.
Patricia grinned and lowered herself into a chair. “Let me write that down right now. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Iris supplied Patricia with her permanent address, an emergency contact phone number, and the expressed assurance that she would remain in Nathan’s home for as long as she was needed. Mrs. Daly wrote fast and asked few questions because Iris volunteered plenty of information.
Nathan stood in the doorway watching the interview like a reluctant bystander. Fancy-dressed
Englischers
made him nervous. The only
Englischers
he could relax around wore bib overalls, Carhartt jackets, and ball caps advertising a particular brand of tractors.
After a short while, Mrs. Daly glanced up at him. “If I can see little Abraham, I won’t take up too much more of your valuable time.”
“Sure thing,” crowed Iris. “Just follow me. He’s asleep in the front room because the kitchen gets stuffy on baking days.”
Nathan watched the social worker trail after his aunt, subtly peering left and right to see if any wild beasts lurked in dark corners or if other hidden dangers waited to befall an innocent baby. He followed after them, too nervous to return to his chores. What would happen if this overdressed inspector saw something she didn’t like? Would she snatch up Abraham and run out the door to her car, maybe sticking a receipt in his mailbox like an English dry cleaners? He wouldn’t take his eyes off her until she left his property.
“There he is.” Iris pointed toward the bay window. “Inspect all you want.”
Mrs. Daly peeked into a portable crib where the baby slept in blissful repose. The bed had a wind-up mechanism that would rock back and forth, usually long enough to put the tyke to sleep. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “He is a handsome boy.”
“Of course, he is. He’s a Fisher, ain’t he?” Iris grinned at Nathan over Mrs. Daly’s head.
“I’m very sorry, little Abe, but I must lift you out of there.” She reached beneath the lightweight blanket.
“You’re going to wake him?” Iris didn’t sound pleased.
“Have to, I’m afraid. I must estimate his length and weight to make sure he’s gaining weight as he should be. Also, I need to check him for diaper rash.”
“
Diaper rash?
” Iris’ pique rang out loud and clear. “He doesn’t have diaper rash!”
When Mrs. Daly lifted the baby free of the swinging contraption and pulled off his covering, Abraham began to wail with indignation.
“Now you’ve done it,” said Iris. “I’ll fetch a fresh diaper so you can make yourself useful while inspecting his bottom.” Off she hurried, leaving the social worker cooing and jiggling the
boppli
like a proud grandparent.
“I’ll be on the porch if you have more questions for me.” Nathan marched off without waiting for her response. This was a woman’s affair, if it was anybody’s business at all. He couldn’t believe his tax dollars paid a person’s salary to check baby bottoms for a living.
Pouring a cup of coffee, he drank it cold on the porch glider. The longer he rocked, the more irritated he became. What right did the government have
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