Sarah's Gift (10 page)

“What
is taking them so long?” Aunt Emma plucked fretfully at the sheet covering her, twisting restlessly on the narrow bed in the emergency room cubicle. “They could have run the tests three times again already.”

“I’m sure it won’t be long.” Sarah patted her aunt’s hand, trying to keep her own worry out of her voice.

Aunt Emma stiffened, pulling away as she drew the sheet up to her chin. “It has already been too long. I told you I didn’t need to come here. Get me my clothes.”

“You don’t want to leave before you’ve heard what the doctor has to say.” Her aunt might sound angry, but Sarah knew only too well what the querulous tone concealed. Not anger. Fear.

The same fear edged along Sarah’s nerves. She’d suspected, from the doctor’s questions and his initial exam, what the trouble was. When he’d ordered a CAT scan and a blood-flow ultrasound, she’d been sure of what he suspected, at least.

Aunt Emma grabbed Sarah’s hand with a bewildering switch of mood. “What is wrong with me, Sarah? Tell me.”

She knew better than to answer that question. Besides, Aunt Emma had probably already figured it out but was loath to say the word. “We must wait for the test results, Aunt Emma. Just be a little patient . . .”

The curtain twitched, was jerked aside. But it wasn’t the doctor she’d hoped to see. Instead her cousin Jonas surged inside, followed by his wife, Mary. “What is happening here? Mammi, are you all right? Why didn’t you reach us sooner?”

This last was directed at Sarah, accompanied by an angry glare. She didn’t blame him for his anger any more than she blamed his mother. They were both afraid.

“Ach, Jonas, don’t be foolish.” Mary slipped past him, giving Sarah a quick smile as she bent to press her cheek against Emma’s. “How can anyone answer all those questions at once?” She held her mother-in-law’s hand for a moment. “How are you?”

“All right. Ready to be out of here.”

“We’re waiting for the doctor to come back with the results of her tests,” Sarah said, praying that Mary’s calm good sense would rub off on Jonas. He and his mother were so much alike that they would make each other even more upset.

“What tests?” Jonas didn’t show much sign of calming down. “How did this happen? We don’t know anything.”

Mary moved from patting her mother-in-law’s hand to patting her husband’s. “Sarah will tell us, if you’ll settle down and let her.”

That seemed to get through to him, and he subsided.

“We were at Eli and Dora Schmidt’s house, delivering her baby. Aunt Emma had a little . . .” She hesitated over the word. “An episode. She became confused.”

Sarah hoped he would be content with that much of an explanation. She didn’t want to get into details in front of Aunt Emma.

“Out delivering a baby. Working too hard.” Jonas chose to focus on that. “Mammi, if you’d come to live with us, this wouldn’t—”

“Jonas, you don’t know that.” Mary interceded again. “It could still have happened. We must be grateful that Sarah was there with her, both for Mamm Emma’s sake and the baby’s.”

“The baby.” Emma repeated the words, and the anger faded from her eyes. “That baby is all right?” She looked at Sarah, pleading.

“The baby is fine,” she said quickly. “A fine, strong baby girl. Dora and Eli are so pleased.”

“Ach, that is so gut.” Mary beamed. “I know they hoped for another girl this time after all those boys in a row, ain’t so, Mamm Emma?”

Emma nodded, but she still wore a lost look that tore at Sarah’s heart. “I let them down.” Her voice caught on a sob.

Jonas moved to her side, taking her hand, all of his wrath washed away by her obvious distress. “Don’t say that. You heard Sarah. Everyone is well.” He struggled for a smile. “And so many people are here, out in the waiting room, wanting to hear about you. Bishop Mose and many others, praying for you.”

Sarah edged back, letting Jonas and Mary take the places at either side of the bed. “Shall I go out and join them, then?”

“No, no.” Emma looked frightened at the thought. “You must stay.”

“Ja,” Mary said, and Jonas gave what seemed a reluctant nod.

“If you want—” Sarah stopped, because someone else was entering the cubicle. The doctor, frowning down at the contents of a folder in his hands.

A chill settled into Sarah’s heart. This would not be welcome news, she feared.

The doctor glanced from face to face, perhaps a little disconcerted by what might seem strange clothing to him. He focused on Emma. “Well, Mrs. Stoltzfus, I think we can say now what the problem is.” He darted a quick glance at the others. “Do you want me to discuss it in private?”

“We are family,” Jonas said quickly. “My mother—”

Emma cut him off with a gesture. “It is all right. You can speak with them here.”

The doctor nodded, leaning an elbow against a piece of equipment and pushing his glasses into place. He was younger than Sarah had first thought, she realized. Perhaps the white coat and his tired expression made him seem older.

“We’ve determined that you suffered from a transient ischemic attack—what we call a TIA.”

Emma didn’t move for a moment. Her lips tightened. “A stroke, you mean.”

“Not a full-fledged stroke,” the doctor said quickly. “You had a fairly short period during which less blood than normal reached your brain. That’s what caused the dizziness and confusion.”

“Does that mean she will likely have a stroke?” Jonas clung tightly to Mary’s hand.

“No, not necessarily. Most people who have strokes have had TIAs, but not everyone who has a TIA will go on to have a stroke.” The doctor seemed to be relaxing a little now that the worst news had been delivered.

“Do I have to stay in the hospital?” Emma’s tone betrayed her longing to be home.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. We’ll give you a diet list to follow, and you’ll need to be on medication. The nurse will bring you all of your instructions, and you should make an appointment with your regular physician as soon as possible.” He pushed himself away, snapping the chart closed. “Any questions?”

There were dozens, but before Sarah could formulate even one, he had disappeared. A look at Emma’s face convinced her not to pursue him. Her aunt needed time to absorb this news. She wouldn’t be able to take in anything more now.

“I can go home?” Emma looked at her, questioning.

“Ja, you can. As soon as the nurse comes with instructions.”

“Gut. I want to go home.” She sat up, as if she were about to get out of bed.

“You must come to our house with us,” Jonas declared. “We’ll take care of you.”

Emma glared at him. “I will go to my own home.”

“Mamm, you can’t—”

“Ja, I can.”

The two of them wore expressions so equally stubborn that it was almost funny. A glance at Mary told Sarah that Emma’s daughter-in-law saw it as well.

“Not now.” She patted Jonas’s arm. “Mamm Emma wants to be in her own home after a day like this. Sarah will be there with her. There’s no need to make decisions all in a hurry.”

“Ja, that’s right,” Sarah said, hoping her cousin would see the sense of his wife’s comments. “Why don’t you step outside and talk to those who are waiting, Jonas? We’ll help your mamm get dressed.”

He hesitated for a moment, and she feared he would continue the argument. But he nodded, bent over the bed to kiss his mother’s cheek, and went out.

“There now.” Mary brought the clothes from the hook on the wall. “Let’s get you ready to go home. You’ll sleep best in your own bed tonight.”

With Sarah on one side and Mary on the other, they were able to get Emma dressed with little effort on her part. She was silent throughout, probably still processing everything she’d heard.

Sarah was settling the prayer kapp into place when Emma suddenly grasped her wrist.

“The baby—Dora Schmidt’s baby. Did she have the baby?”

“Ja, she did.” Sarah exchanged looks with Mary. “A healthy baby girl.”

Emma’s grip tightened. “You delivered her?”

Nothing but the truth would do. “Ja.”

Tears filled Emma’s eyes. “Useless.” Her voice broke. “I am useless.”

CHAPTER NINE

A
aron
glanced at the basket tucked under the seat of the buggy as he drove up the lane to Emma’s place on Saturday afternoon. Molly had handed him the basket with a string of instructions.

“Tell Sarah how sorry we are for her trouble. If you see Emma, be cheerful. And if Sarah needs anything at all, we will be happy to help. And don’t say anything to upset them.” At that point she’d hesitated. “Maybe I should go myself.”

“You’ll go nowhere but back inside.” He’d turned her around and given her a little shove toward the door. “It’s getting colder by the minute and coming on to snow soon if that sky is anything to go by.”

Now, as he drew up to the hitching post and slid down from the buggy, his stomach tightened. Molly had probably been right—she’d have done this better than he would. She’d know the right words to say.

He pulled the basket from under the seat, feeling the warmth of the casserole it held. He’d find something to say, not that it would do much to ease Sarah and Emma’s pain. He headed for the back door.

Sarah opened the door before he could knock. The smile she gave him couldn’t quite erase the anxiety that shadowed her green eyes.

“Aaron. I didn’t think to see you today. Komm in out of the cold.”

He wiped his boots on the mat and stepped into the warmth of the kitchen. “Colder today than yesterday. Winter is setting in early for sure this year.”

She nodded at the words, but he could see that her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Sarah, I’m sorry for your trouble.” He almost reached for her hand, realized he still carried the basket, and gave it to her instead. “Molly sent this over for your supper. And she says that if there is anything at all that you need, just ask.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, hitting him with the impact of a blow. “Denke. Everyone has been so kind.” She gestured toward the counter, crowded with casseroles and plastic containers.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Feeding people is one way of saying we’re sorry, ain’t so?”

She nodded, lifting the towel Molly had put over her dish and peeping inside. “Ach, potpie, my aunt’s favorite. We will have this today, for sure.”

“I’ll tell Molly.” His fingers clenched. He had to ask how Emma was, but he dreaded upsetting Sarah. “Your aunt, is she . . .”

“She’s resting.” Sarah turned away to put the basket down, hiding her expression.

“I should leave, then. I don’t want to disturb her.” But he didn’t want to walk away and leave Sarah with that bereft look in her eyes. “I was going to check the measurements for the cabinet doors, but if you think that will bother her . . .”

“No, no, that’s all right.” She turned toward him, fixing a smile to her face with an obvious effort. “She won’t even hear you.” She opened the door to the addition, and he walked through. Somewhat to his surprise, she followed him.

He watched her, resting his hand on the cabinet. Even feeling as he had to begin with about this project, he could be confident that the work he’d done would last, serving generations to come. That was a satisfying thing about carpentry.

She stood for a moment, hugging her arms against the chill in the addition. “I thought you’d be asking me again if I’m sure I want you to finish the work. After all, you were right about Aunt Emma, ain’t so?”

“I take no pleasure in that, Sarah.” He looked at her gravely, trusting she knew he was sincere.

A faint color tinged her cheeks. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my worry out on you.”

“Is Emma so very bad?” Again he felt that impulse to touch her in comfort, and he repressed it.

“Not physically. But she is so depressed.” Sarah lifted her hand in a helpless gesture. “I’ve never seen her this way. She is always so busy, so active. Now she just wants to sleep.”

“I know she’s grateful that you are here with her.” It was the most reassuring thing he could think to say. “But this is not what you expected when you came to Pleasant Valley.”

“No.” She turned slowly, looking around the bare room as if she were seeing it the way she dreamed it would be. “I thought this would be a fresh start for me. That’s why I sold my husband’s share in the farm—so that I could invest in my future. So that I wouldn’t be just helping Aunt Emma but actually be a partner to her. Now . . . well, now I don’t know.”

He studied her face. “You could have invested that money in your business in Ohio, ain’t so? You already had a practice there.”

“Ja. But there everyone saw me as . . . well, as my husband’s widow. I didn’t like feeling that people were sorry for me.” She glanced at him, the pink in her cheeks deepening. “I sound sorry for myself, I think.”

“No. Just honest.” Maybe she deserved some honesty from him in return. “I know what you mean about those feelings. After Mamm died, I’d see folks looking at us that way—feeling sorry that our mamm was gone and our daad had turned to drink in his grief.”

It wasn’t as difficult as he’d thought to say the words. Sarah had a way of making you feel you could say anything to her.

She nodded, understanding in her face. “Knowing each other is part of the strength of being Amish, but maybe sometimes we wish folks didn’t know so much.”

“Ja.” Again that impulse to touch her. “You have an understanding heart, Sarah Mast.”

She was startled into a smile. “I have said too much, I’m afraid.”

“No. Don’t think that.” He clasped her hand, just for an instant, and felt warmth travel clear to his heart.

Sarah drew in an audible breath. She felt it, too, then. He shouldn’t—

She turned away, moving quickly to the window, giving them both breathing space. “Look. It is snowing.” Delight pierced her voice. “Just look.”

He went to stand next to her at the window, more aware of her nearness than of the scene outside. “You sound like a child, excited at the first flakes of snow coming down.”

“It makes me feel like a child. Remember when you’d be sitting in the classroom, trying to concentrate, and suddenly you’d see that first snow of the winter starting to fall?”

He smiled in return, knowing that her Amish school had probably been just like his. “Ja. The teacher didn’t even try to keep us in our seats at that.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, now that I’m a grown-up, the snow also makes me think of all the things that must be done before it gets too bad to work outside. We must get that phone shanty built for you right away.”

Sarah blinked, looking at him without understanding. “The phone shanty? But Aunt Emma and I didn’t even talk about putting one in yet.”

“No? Maybe Emma didn’t talk to you, but she spoke to Bishop Mose, and he agreed that you must have a phone for the midwife practice. I’m to build the shanty, just at the edge of the porch, and Joseph Beiler will do the wiring. He says he can rig up a battery-powered buzzer in the bedrooms, so you’re sure to hear when someone calls.”

She looked a little dazed at all of these arrangements. “But why didn’t Aunt Emma say anything to me? I thought she didn’t approve of the idea.”

“Maybe she wanted to surprise you.” He hesitated, not sure he should say more. “It seems to me that maybe your aunt was trying to show her confidence in you.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, face so close that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in the rich green of her eyes. “You think that?”

He knew what she was really asking, and he struggled to find an answer. “If I have doubts about midwives—well, you know why that is. But I see how much you care, and I would hate for you to give up.”

“Denke, Aaron.” Her voice was soft, and her lips trembled just a little. “Denke.”

A longing to close the space between them flooded through him, startling him with its intensity. He wanted to hold her—

No. He couldn’t let that happen. He took a careful step away from Sarah. “I’d better get those measurements done and get on home before the snow starts to stick.” He yanked the tape from his pocket.

“Ja. I should check on my aunt.” She turned away, not looking at him.

“Sarah . . .” He said her name without thinking, and then realized he really did have another thing he had to say. “I nearly forgot.” Because he’d been so busy thinking of how close she was. “Molly is planning a little celebration for Benjamin’s sixteenth birthday on Wednesday. We would like you and your aunt to come for ice cream and cake after supper.”

He would not let himself think about the fact that Emma would be back in the house where his mother died exactly sixteen years earlier. He couldn’t.

“Denke. If Aunt Emma is well enough, we will be happy to come.”

Sarah’s words were what he expected. But her gaze—it seemed to go right through him. It seemed to see all the emotions he tried to hide, even from himself.

Sarah
had managed to convince Aunt Emma to get up for supper—at least she hoped so. She glanced toward the stairwell as she warmed the chicken potpie on the stove. Aunt Emma didn’t seem to be coming yet.

She bit her lip, praying she was doing the right thing in pushing her aunt to get out of bed. This inertia of hers was almost more frightening than the TIA itself. If Aunt Emma didn’t discuss it with her family doctor, Sarah would have to.

She pulled out the lime gelatin salad Dora Schmidt had sent over, knowing it was one of Aunt Emma’s favorites. As Sarah had said to Aaron, everyone had been so kind.

Aaron. She’d managed not to think about him for at least a couple of minutes. Maybe that was progress.

But now his strong-boned face, dark eyebrows drawn down, intense eyes questioning, shoved everything else from her thoughts. Questioning what? In those moments when they’d been so close that the air between them seemed to thin—had he been denying what he felt? Or rejecting her feelings?

She pressed her hands against her cheeks. They must be hot because she’d been bent over the stove. There wasn’t any other reason.

At least Aaron had been almost encouraging about the practice. Given his opinion of midwifery, that had been astonishing.

As for what he’d said about Aunt Emma and the phone shanty—well, she still could hardly believe her aunt would take such a step. She’d seemed so negative about a telephone the only time they’d spoken of the idea.

The sound of movement on the stairs alerted Sarah, and she took down bowls from the shelf. When her aunt entered the kitchen, she was ladling chicken potpie into them.

“Look what Molly sent over for our supper.”

She fought to hold a cheerful facade over her anxiety. She’d never thought of Aunt Emma as old. But with her face drawn and her eyes lifeless, Emma looked every minute of her age.

“That was kind of her.” Aunt Emma sat down heavily. “I’m not very hungry.”

“Just have a little,” Sarah said, sliding into her chair. She bowed her head for the silent prayer.

When the prayer was over, Aunt Emma sat staring down at the bowl.

“Try it.” This was like urging a child to eat. Sarah took a spoonful herself. “Tastes a little different from yours, but gut.”

The comparison pushed her aunt into tasting it. She nodded and then took another spoonful. Sarah’s tension eased a little. Emma had to take an interest in something. She couldn’t just lie there, staring at the wall.

“Molly is a fine cook,” Emma said. “She had to learn early, with those boys to feed. She and Aaron had to do everything, sad to say. Their grossmutter helped when she could, but her health wasn’t gut.”

“Aaron talked Molly out of coming herself, since it was so cold out today. He brought an invitation to join them for ice cream and cake for Benjamin’s birthday on Wednesday. It is hard to believe he’ll be sixteen already. I think Aaron still looks on him as a little boy.”

“Benjamin is starting his rumspringa.” Now that she was eating, Aunt Emma kept on. “That will cause Aaron a few sleepless nights, ain’t so?”

“I guess.”

“So we are invited to his birthday, are we?” Aunt Emma looked at her with a spark of interest in her face. “I never have been invited before, so I’m thinking it must be because of you.”

“I don’t . . . I mean, I’m sure Molly is just being welcoming.” Sarah didn’t want to go anywhere near the subject of Aaron, but at least Aunt Emma looked alive again.

“Ach, I think it is Aaron who is glad you are here. I haven’t missed all the excuses he finds to talk to you.”

“Only because of the work.” Her cheeks were hot again. If Aunt Emma thought that, what must other people be saying?

“You watch and see if I’m right. He’ll make an excuse to talk to you at church tomorrow, he will.”

“Don’t go matchmaking,” she warned, too pleased to hear Emma sounding like herself to shut down the topic. “If he comes near us at worship tomorrow, it will be to ask how you are.”

Some of the animation faded from Emma’s face. “I don’t know. Maybe you had best plan to go alone.”

To push, or not to push? Again, she didn’t know the answer. “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

Aunt Emma nodded, but she seemed to be slipping back again into some quiet world of her own. Sarah sought desperately to find a way to hold her interest.

“You didn’t tell me that you had talked to Bishop Mose about a telephone.”