Love Redeemed (26 page)

He met them at the corral. “Is it time?” Panting in a manner much the same as the one his fraa had been using, Elijah thrust his arms around Bethel and picked her up. “Is it time for the baby?”

“It is.” Bethel leaned into his grip and put her arms around his neck. “Irene sent Daniel to get Marcy. They'll both be along in a bit.”

“
Gut
. That's
gut
.” Elijah didn't bother with the crutches. He swept Bethel into his arms and started toward the house. “Phoebe, Hannah, come on. Get in the house. Start boiling water. We'll need towels—”

“I know, Onkel.” Phoebe scampered ahead of him, caught up in the
moment. She would help bring a new life into this world. She slammed to a halt. A new life.
Gott, help me
.

“
Ach
, get out of the way.” Elijah danced around her and plowed up the steps. “Coming through. We have a baby to get born here.”

Phoebe glanced back. Hannah still sat in the buggy, motionless. Phoebe chewed the inside of her cheek.
Come on, Hannah, come on.
Her sister didn't move. “I'll be right there. I'm right behind you.”

She ran back to the buggy. “Hannah, come on. Bethel needs us. Onkel needs us.”

“Lydia needed you. She needed me. She needed us.”

Tears streamed down Hannah's small, freckled face. Phoebe couldn't bear it. She clamored into the buggy and squeezed on the backseat next to her sister. “I know. I know. If there were some way to change what I did, I would do it. I can't. I'm so, so sorry.”

“I don't want to be around any more babies.”

“You're afraid they'll die.”

“Jah.”

“Don't you trust in Gott?”

“He took Lydia.”

“And she's sitting on His lap right now.”

Hannah scrubbed at her face. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

Irene's buggy pulled into the yard next to theirs. Phoebe heaved a sigh of relief. The midwife might not get here soon enough, but Irene would know what to do. “See, there's Irene.”

The screen door slammed. “You coming?” called Elijah.

“We're coming,” Phoebe yelled back. “Aren't we?”

In response, Hannah stepped over Phoebe and jumped from the buggy. “Hurry up!”

“Hurry up? You're the one holding things up!”

Leaving Irene to follow at a much more sedate pace, they raced to the house. Together they followed Irene's directions, collecting towels and boiling water in big pots on the stove. By the time Marcy arrived, Bethel was in full labor, her groans almost more than Phoebe could bear. Trying to close her ears, she followed directions.

Towels. Water. More towels. Cool water to drink. Fresh sheets.

All the same things they'd done when Sarah came into the world. Working next to Hannah and Irene, she didn't have time to think. Instead, she prayed.
Gott, bring this little one into the world healthy and whole. Please, Gott, if it is Your will, give Onkel Elijah and Aenti Bethel the chance to be parents of one of Your children. Gott, thank You for Marcy and what she knows about birthing babies.

Instead of moving quickly then, everything seemed to slow down. Minutes turned into hours. Bethel's cries became less frequent. Elijah walked a pattern in the hallway that ran from the front room past the bedrooms, back and forth, back and forth, until Phoebe wanted to scream with Bethel.

She leaned against the wall outside the door, waiting to see if Marcy needed anything else. She wanted to help.
Anything, Gott, anything I can do.

Irene, who'd been traipsing back and forth into the room as needed with cool drinks and a pan of cracked ice and then food for Marcy, finally plopped down in a rocking chair and leaned back. She looked exhausted.

Phoebe eased into the chair across from her. “How's it going in there?”

“It's going fine. Her labor has slowed down. Sometimes that happens with a first baby.” Irene brushed wisps of hair from her forehead. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her hairline. “It's harder for Bethel, too, because she has weak back muscles. She's having back spasms, which means she's suffering more pain than most. She's tired.”

Phoebe shivered despite the stuffiness of the room. “It really is hard to have a baby, isn't it? Makes you wonder why anyone would do it more than once!”

Irene chuckled. “When you hold that baby in your arms, you forget all about the pain of childbirth.” She rocked for a moment, her gaze on something beyond Phoebe, something she couldn't see. “We have this capacity to bear pain and to let it go.”

“It's a good thing.” Phoebe wasn't sure they were talking about childbirth anymore. “Otherwise, we'd never have children.”

“Or love or get married.” Irene sighed. “All the really wonderful things in life may cause us pain, but they're worth it, and that's why we chance it and why we survive it, because we know there's joy beyond the pain.”

“I hope so.” Phoebe whispered the words. “I hope so.”

“Gott's plan.”

“I know.”

The door popped open. His face white as a pillow, Elijah stopped in his tracks. Marcy's head popped out. “Phoebe, she wants you. You too, Hannah.”

Phoebe exchanged glances with her little sister. Hannah's face was full of trepidation. “Me?”

“What about me?” Elijah folded his arms across his broad chest. “Doesn't she want me?”

“She does, just not yet.” Marcy jerked her head. “Let's go, girls.”

They traipsed single file into the room. Despite the open windows, the air hung warm and damp around them. Bethel's head lay against a mound of pillow, her face pale except for pinpoints of red on her cheeks. She shifted, pulled herself upright, and moaned. “There you are.”

“How are you doing?” Phoebe picked up a washcloth and dampened it in a pan of water. She wiped Bethel's forehead and cheeks. “You look tuckered out.”

“This little one is determined to stay inside. Can you blame him? Nothing but eating, sleeping and playing?” She smiled. Despite the dark circles around her eyes, she looked happy. “I wanted my two nieces with me when he comes into the world.”

“Is it…is it now?”

Bethel grabbed Phoebe's hand and squeezed so hard she almost cried out. “It's now,” she panted. “It's now!”

And she was right. A minute or two later, Bethel and Elijah's firstborn made his appearance. A big, strapping boy with lungs to match. Red-faced, fists waving, he began to squall his disapproval at the situation as soon as Marcy wiped him down and lifted him onto his mudder's stomach.

“A boy!” Phoebe clapped her hands together. She couldn't help herself. “He's beautiful. He looks like Elijah, doesn't he, Hannah?”

Her sister took a step back from the bed, her hands to her face. “He's so pretty.”

“He is, isn't he?” Bethel tugged the blanket around the baby and shifted him into the crook of her arm. “Would you like to hold him?”

Hannah shook her head and took another step back.

A smile on his face so broad it was a wonder it didn't crack, Elijah strode into the room. “A boy? Marcy says a boy.”

Bethel grinned back. “A boy.”

Elijah gently scooped his new son into his arms. “John.”

“John.” Phoebe repeated. “It suits him.”

Elijah nodded, but his gaze didn't leave Bethel's. They shared the moment as if they were alone in the room. They seemed to communicate even though no words were said aloud. Phoebe backed away from the bed. She grabbed Hannah's arm and propelled her toward the door.

“What?”

“We'll start supper. The new mudder and daed will be hungry after all this hard work.”

At the door, she glanced back. Elijah had eased onto the bed. He and Bethel held baby John between them. Bethel's face was wet with tears. She caught Phoebe's gaze. “Have faith.”

Have faith. A simple admonition. Her aenti meant well, but Phoebe needed her to explain how to do that. Michael had gone and might never come back. He had disappeared into the Englisch world. Who knew what he was doing now?

Daniel knew. Daniel knew how to reach Michael. He'd known all along. Her throat tight with tears, Phoebe nodded. She wanted what Bethel and Elijah had. She wanted it with Michael.

Chapter 24

M
ichael untied his sodden apron, wadded it up in a ball, and tossed it into the basket Oscar left in the corner of the kitchen for that purpose. Finally. He liked working the early shift better, because he got off while there was still sunlight. He'd never been in the habit of sleeping late so he didn't mind coming in early to mop floors, fill salt and pepper shakers, and set ketchup and Tabasco sauce on the tables. Rubbing gritty eyes with both hands, he used his shoulder to push through the double doors from the kitchen into the dining room.

“Heading out?” Crystal called over the din of several dozen customers, all of whom seemed to be eating and talking at the same time. Michael never actually saw anyone talk with his mouth full, but the noise indicated otherwise. “You lucky dog, getting off early. How'd you swing that?”

“You didn't come in until noon.” Michael squeezed past her. Crystal tended to forget these things when it suited her. “I had to be here before dawn, remember, to get ready to open while you were sleeping.”

“I'll put your tips in an envelope on the shelf under the register.” She poured coffee for a man at the counter without looking at the cup. How she managed that Michael would never know. “Got big plans for the evening?”

“No.” He'd learned how to operate the microwave in his kitchenette.
He had his choice of a frozen tuna-noodle casserole that wasn't half bad or vegetable beef soup from a can. With such an abundance of choices, he'd wait to see what caught his fancy. “Finishing the book I started last night.”

Crystal wrote down an order with a flourish, stuck the pen behind her ear, and slapped the ticket on the spinning hanger. Her long fingernails were a bright red today to match her hair. They were rarely the same color two days in a row. “Order up, Mac.” She stuck the pad into her apron pocket. “You know what your problem is? You need a girl.”

Heat washed over him.
I have a girl.
To his relief, he didn't say the words aloud.
I had a girl.
For a minute or two. One brief flash of indescribable joy lost the next second in abject misery. The dinging of the bell over the double doors saved him. More customers. That would keep the busybody from digging into business that had nothing to do with her.

“There you are.”

He turned at the now familiar voice. “Sophie. What are you doing here?”

“Nice.” Crystal chortled behind him before Sophie could answer. “Look Lana, Mikey's got a girl. And one of his kind too.”

Lana, busy cutting a huge wedge of lemon meringue pie, looked up, her eyes wide with curiosity. “She's cute. And his kind. Sort of. Nice!”

“That's enough, girls. Give the guy a break.” Oscar's bass reverberated the way it always did when he was feeling the stress of a big crowd and dwindling food supplies. “Lana, get out there and wait on table six before that guy gets up and leaves. He's been waiting at least five minutes.”

Lana scuttled away and Crystal grabbed the half-full, steaming coffeepot and began making her rounds. Thankful for his boss's surly attitude toward interruptions in the workflow, Michael focused on the girl ambling toward him.

Over the past few weeks Sophie had continued to appear at his bus stop on many occasions, giving him rides to the bank, to the grocery store, to the library, and to the motel. She always acted as if it were a chance meeting, something he knew couldn't be further from the
truth. Still, he couldn't complain about it. He had no one else to talk to outside work. He didn't know why she did it and if he were truthful with himself, he didn't care. He'd begun to listen for the
put-put
of the scooter and look for its pink glare as he sat alone on the bus bench, waiting for a bus to take him back to the room that served as his home.

She'd never come to the diner before. Michael used the distraction to move toward the door. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is great.” She stayed where she was. “I've never eaten here and I thought it would be cool to see where you work. My papa says the food is good. I have my house cleaning and my ironing money. I thought I'd treat you to supper and then we could go to the store.”

“I already ate here once today.” Michael reeled in his irritation, aware of a trio of people watching his every move. Sophie couldn't know how uncomfortable this made him. He'd let her be his friend out there in the world where no one knew him. Why not here?

He blew out air. “Sorry. I'm tired.”

“Yeah, it was stupid of me. It was just sort of spontaneous.”

“It was nice that you came.”

“We can eat supper another time.”

“No. Let's eat.” He pushed open the door. “But not here.”

Once outside he looked around, surprised. “Where's the scooter?”

“Tune-up.”

“Ah.”

“It'll be ready in about an hour. Have you ever eaten Mexican food?”

“An enchilada casserole once. Does that count?”

“Time to try something new.”

She smiled, but she didn't seem her usual contagiously enthusiastic self.

“I'm sorry if I was rude before. Inside. I've lost my manners here.” He waved his hand at their surroundings. “People are always bumping into me, and they spit on the sidewalk and yell dirty words for no reason and the customers in the diner complain about everything and they want refunds or free food if there's a spot on their spoon. I'm just—”

“Homesick. You're homesick.”