The Baby Bequest. Lyn Cote

a man Kurt didn’t know asked.

      “How old is he?” Martin Steward asked. His wife, Ophelia, started to rise, but Martin gently urged her to remain seated. Would Miss Thurston’s family support her in her desire to keep the child?

      “The infant is around a month old, Mrs. Ashford thought,” the schoolteacher said. “He is a boy, and I’ve named him William.” At that moment, William yawned very loudly. A few chuckled at the sound.

      Mr. and Mrs. Ashford, in their Sunday best, hurried inside with Amanda between them. “We’re sorry to be late,” Mr. Ashford said, taking off his hat.

      “But we lost so much sleep helping Miss Thurston with the foundling last night,” Mrs. Ashford announced, proclaiming herself as an important player in this mystery. “We overslept.”

      Kurt watched them squeeze onto the bench in front of him, though plenty of space remained open beside Johann. The simple act scraped his tattered pride. When he noted their daughter steal a quick glance at Gunther, his tension tightened another turn. The Ashfords would never let Gunther court their daughter. That was as ridiculous as if he decided to pursue Miss Thurston himself.

      This realization choked him and he tried to dismiss it.

      Ellen nodded toward the rear of the room. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Ashford. I’ll need more of that Horlick’s infant powder today. So far he seems to be tolerating it well.”

      Mrs. Ashford perched on the bench, her chin lifted knowingly.

      “Well, what are we going to do about this, Noah?” a tall, young deacon named Gordy Osbourne asked, rising. Many nodded their agreement with the inquiry.

      Kurt braced himself. Now unrelenting reality regarding her station in life would beat against Miss Thurston.

      Noah looked troubled. “Is the child healthy, Miss Thurston?”

      Before Ellen could respond, Mrs. Ashford piped up, “He appears healthy, but is disfigured by a birthmark on his head.”

      “He has what’s called a port-wine stain on his forehead,” Miss Thurston corrected, “but his hair will cover it as he grows.” The lady sent a stern glance at the storekeeper’s wife and held the child closer.

      Why didn’t she see that he’d been right? No one was going to let her keep this child. He realized he’d been mangling his hat brim and eased his grip.

      “Unless the mark grows, too, and spreads,” Mrs. Ashford said, sounding dour.

      “I don’t think that has anything to do with the baby’s health,” Noah commented. “A birthmark will not hurt the child.”

      “Maybe that’s why somebody abandoned him at the teacher’s door,” Osbourne’s wife, Nan, spoke up. “Some people don’t want a child with that kind of mark.”

      “Unfortunately you may be right,” Noah said. “But the real question is, does anyone here know of any woman in this area who was expecting a child in the past month?”

      Kurt admired Noah’s ability to lead the gathering. Was it because he was the preacher, or had he done something in the past to gain this position? In Europe, leadership would have to do with family standing and connections, but here, that didn’t seem to matter. No town mayor or lord would make this decision. Noah Whitmore had thrown the question open for discussion—even women had spoken. This way of doing things felt odd but good to Kurt.

      Noah’s wife, Sunny, rose. “I think I can say that no woman I know in this whole area was expecting a baby last month.”

      “Perhaps someone from a boat left him at the schoolhouse,” Miss Thurston said, “because it is the only public building in Pepin, and a little away from town. They would have been less likely to be observed leaving the child.”

      The congregation appeared to chew on this. Kurt stared at Miss Thurston, remembering her initial hesitation to pick up the child and her mention of a baby brother who’d died. She had known loss, too. Wealth and position could not prevent mortality and mourning. He forced his tight lungs to draw in air.

      “Well, we will need a temporary home for the child—” Noah began.

      “I will keep the child,” Miss Thurston said, and then walked toward the benches as if the matter were settled.

      Her announcement met with an instant explosion of disapproval, just as Kurt had predicted.

      One woman rose. “You can’t keep a baby. You’re not married.” Her tone was horrified.

      Ellen halted. “I don’t know what that has to do with my ability to care for a child. I’ve cared for children in the past.”

      “But you’re the schoolmarm!” one man exclaimed. General and loud agreement followed.

      Kurt didn’t listen much to the crowd, but watched for the reactions of the young pastor. And Miss Thurston, who’d paused near the front row, half-turned toward the preacher, too.

      The pastor’s wife silenced the uproar merely by rising. “There is an orphanage in Illinois run by a daughter of our friends, the Gabriels. We might send the child there.”

      Murmurs of agreement began.

      Miss Thurston swung to face everyone again. “I think that is a precipitate suggestion. What if the child’s mother changes her mind? I don’t think it’s uncommon for a woman to become low in spirits soon after a birth.”

      A few women nodded in agreement.

      “What if this woman suffered this low mood and was in unfortunate circumstances? After realizing what she’s done, she might return to reclaim the child. I think it’s best we wait upon events.”

      A man in the rear snorted and muttered loud enough for all to hear, “It’s probably somebody’s unwanted, baseborn child.”

      Noah stiffened. “I think we need to remember why we are gathered here.”

      That shut everyone up, suiting Kurt’s idea of propriety. A child’s life was not a subject for derision.

      Noah gazed out at the unhappy congregation. “Miss Thurston is right, I think. A child’s future depends on our making the right decision. This is something we need to pray about so we do what God wants. One thing is certain—no woman gives up her child lightly. Someone has trusted us with their own blood and we must not act rashly.”

      His words eased some of the tension from the room, another sign of Noah’s leadership. Again, Kurt wondered about the preacher’s past and how he’d come to be so respected here. Kurt’s family had been respected in their village, but had lost that over his father’s many sins.

      “But who’s going to take care of the foundling in the meantime?” Mrs. Ashford asked.

      “I will,” Ellen declared. “He was left on my doorstep.”

      The storekeeper’s wife started, “But you’ll be teaching—”

      “I’m sure we can find someone who will care for the child while Miss Thurston carries out her teaching duties,” Noah said, taking charge of the room. “That’s something else we will pray about.”

      Noah raised his hands and bowed his head and began praying, effectively ending the discussion. Kurt lowered his head, too, praying that Miss Thurston wouldn’t be hurt too badly when the child was taken from her. Because he was certain that that was exactly what was going to happen, one way or the other.

      * * *

      Ellen’s face ached with the smile she’d kept in place all morning during the church service. She wished everyone would just go home and leave her alone. But the congregation lingered around the schoolhouse, around her.

      Everyone wanted a good look at William and an opportunity to express their opinion of wicked people who abandoned babies. They also lauded her desire to care for the child—even if she were a schoolmarm,