Grinning, Peter slipped Lil’ Bit easily out of Rebekah’s arms and plopped him over his shoulder. “Hallo, Lil’ Bit. Can you say hallo Oncle Peter?”
Lil’ Bit loosed a loud burp, which made everybody giggle.
“I suppose that is how you can pronounce it,” Peter said. “Hey, Molly, can you hand me a burp cloth, please? That burp sounded like it may have had something milky behind it.”
Peter stepped to the side and revealed his wife, Katie. She stood there in Rebekah’s living room tall and stoic, and as pretty as one of those paintings from New York City. Behind her, Samuel bounced bopplin Ruth in his arms.
A wave of jealousy rose into the back of her throat as her fater wore the smile that Katie was able to give him with her happy bopplin. The smile that I could only take away from him.
The Wagler’s, the Amish couple who had adopted Peter when he showed up in Gasthof Village bent on taking Rebekah back to the Englischer world, appeared silently beside Samuel and absconded, all smiles, with bopplin Ruth.
“Hallo, Rebekah.”
Katie’s voice was flatter than she remembered. Katie’s gute fortune and her cute and happy bopplin drove like stakes into Rebekah’s heart. She tried to make her mouth form words that did not sour as they passed her lips. “Hallo, Katie. I hope you had a gute trip.”
Katie opened her mouth, but Lil’ Bit began to whimper.
Joseph’s voice came from somewhere. “Would you like me to take him, Peter?”
Peter hadn’t put Lil’ Bit down since he came in and did not look as though he was planning on it anytime soon. “No way. I can handle a few bopplin tears. It will match well with the spit up down my back.”
Rebekah nodded to Katie then stepped over to her brother. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I can take him, Peter, I was going to go up and rest anyway.”
“No, no.” Peter looked sternly at Lil’ Bit, as though he was studying every bit of him for something hidden, something only Oncle Peter could see. “It is really okay, Rebekah. I will hold onto this little man so that you can go up and rest unless you would like to feed him first?”
Rebekah stammered over her words and her head dipped.
Surprisingly, Joseph interjected on her behalf. “It is no problem, Peter, you can hold onto him. We are feeding Lil’ Bit on a bottle.”
“On a bottle?” Katie sounded incredulous.
Some intelligible words finally stammered their way into Rebekah’s mouth. “If you all will excuse me, I am still not quite feeling myself.” The excuse, though true, was still an excuse. “I must go lay down.” She walked past Joseph without looking at him, even though he reached out his hand for hers. “Peter, thank you for bopplin-sitting while I get a nap.”
“Of course.”
Rebekah turned and trudged out of the room but did not say any more words. They would just get tied up anyway. By the time she reached the first stair that led up to the room where she could go and hide, her tears were already tracking down her cheeks in hot trails.
Chapter Eleven
But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’” – Luke 15: 32
A soft knock sounded on the freshly closed door. Rebekah sniffled and thought for a moment. I could hide under the bed. Jump out the window. Just not answer at all.
Instead, she sighed. “Who is it?”
“I will give you a hint. It is your brother from Texas.” He sounded more Englisher than Amish in his words.
She sat down on the bed, defeated. “Bruder from Texas? I have no idea who that could be.” A small smile played at the corners of her lips. “Komme in then.”
Peter peeked inside, a silly look on his face.
Rebekah dipped her head and chuckled. “You are really terrible at guessing games, you know.”
“You are right, I am.” He walked inside. Lil’ Bit was snuggled down in the crook of his muscled arm, sound asleep.
“You got him to sleep so fast.” Rebekah shook her head. “I cannot do that.”
“It is just the gift of being an oncle.” He pushed the door shut and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Katie is giving my bruder-in-law a hand in the kitchen making dinner. Seems you aren’t quite up to snuff yet, are you?”
“No. No snuff.”
Peter bent and plopped Lil’ Bit, who somehow got himself wrapped tightly in a quilt, into his cradle. Her bopplin simply sighed and adjusted ever so slightly, but miraculously stayed asleep.
“We brought him that quilt as a welcome to the world gift. Handmade by the Mennonite women of Old Amarillo, Texas.” Peter shrugged and squatted next to the cradle. “I reckon they must have sewed some sleeping powders into it or something.”
Rebekah’s heart sank again. “Danki, Peter. But I did not know you were coming, so I did not prepare a gift for bopplin Ruth.”
“We did not come for gifts, Sis, you should know that.” Peter traced his finger along the smooth rim of the cradle and studied its craftsmanship. “This is a fine cradle.”
“Samuel made it.” Rebekah looked down at her bopplin sohn. Her soul filled with love and heartbreak, all at once. It was as confusing an emotion as anything else swimming around in her head. “Every time I put Lil’ Bit into it, he just screams.”
Peter chuckled. “No worries. He was just waiting for his Oncle Peter to get here. He will settle now.”
Tears streamed down her face without warning and her lower lip quivered, but she was not sure why. She bit into it to still it.
Peter sat beside her. “You were probably too young to remember, but we had an Oncle Dan with us on the wagon train where we were attacked by Indians. He loved you so, never put you down. He was my favorite relation.” Peter nudged his sister. “And Lil’ Bit looks just like him.”
Rebekah hiccupped and leaned into his shoulder.
He put his arm around her. “There now, Sis. Oncle Dan was a handsome fellow. No need to cry.”
But cry she did. She could not even fully appreciate Peter’s ribbing. Instead of laughing and rejoicing that her brother was here with her, telling her jokes, sob after sob roiled out without warning.
Peter held his sister close. “It’s oll recht, Sis. These bopplin blues will pass.”
“Bopplin blues?”
“Ja. Feeling down after the baby comes. Happens to lots of women. Our ma—” He stopped short. “You know what I mean, no offense to Elnora. But our ma, she had the bopplin blues terribly after you were born. Felt like she could not feed you, could not care for you, nothing. She was not herself at all, I remember.”
Something in Rebekah’s soul, deep down and almost unreachable, stirred. “Ma had this, too?”
Peter nodded. “She did. I remember her crying herself to sleep at night and refusing to leave the bed in the morning. Said her body ached, her heart hurt, and she felt like a no-account mother. One time…” Peter let his words trail off.
“One time what?” Rebekah dabbed at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
He dropped his voice low. “One time, she even said it out loud. ‘I bet there’s another mother out there who could mother this baby better than me.’”
Rebekah sat in stunned silence.
