Sarah's Gift (11 page)

“Where did you hear about that?” Aunt Emma almost smiled. “Aaron, ain’t so?”

“Ja, Aaron.” But it didn’t mean anything. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you didn’t want a phone.” She stopped, not wanting to venture into an area where they might disagree.

“I thought about what everyone said, that night at dinner. It seemed to me that if everyone felt that way, maybe there was something in it after all.” Emma did smile, the lines around her eyes crinkling so that she looked like herself again. “As for not telling you, I wanted it to be a surprise. I should have known better. There’s no keeping secrets in Pleasant Valley.”

Sarah reached across the table to clasp her aunt’s hand. “Denke, Aunt Emma. You make me feel as if I really am your partner.” It was an echo of what she’d said to Aaron.

Her aunt looked down, as if to hide her expression. “I wish that could be. But I see now that Jonas was right. I am too old to do this anymore.”

Sarah’s breath caught. “You don’t mean you are closing the practice.” Her dreams gone, all in a moment.

Aunt Emma looked at her in surprise. “Closing? No. Pleasant Valley cannot be left without a midwife. That midwife won’t be me any longer. It will be you.”

“But—” Sarah couldn’t find the words to express the doubt, relief, and fear that fought inside her. “How can I? I can’t do it alone.”

Aunt Emma’s hand tightened on hers. “You can. You will. God has given you a gift, Sarah. You must have confidence in that gift.”

Sarah could only look at her, trembling between fear and hope. Aunt Emma had said what Sarah longed to hear. But how could she possibly do this alone?

“Everything
looks fine.” Sarah touched Anna Fisher’s shoulder lightly, knowing that assurance was what Anna needed to hear. “Your little girl will have a baby sister or brother in about eight months. Are you having any morning sickness?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, if you do, try drinking a cup of raspberry-leaf tea once a day. That will help.”

Anna nodded, pressing her palm on her still-flat stomach. “You think I’m foolish to come in so early?”

“No, not at all.” Sarah sank down in the chair across from the woman, clasping the hand she held out. “Your little girl’s birth mamm dying so soon after she was born was such a sad experience. It’s natural for you to be a bit apprehensive.”

Sarah had heard some of Anna’s story—of her flight from Pleasant Valley when she was just eighteen and her return three years later with the adopted child of her Englisch friend. Now she was well and truly settled back where she belonged, married to Samuel Fisher in early November and expecting a little one of her own already.

Anna nodded. “I tell myself it’s foolish, but I needed to hear you say everything is all right.” She hesitated, and Sarah sensed she had a still unspoken fear.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

“My sister-in-law Myra, Samuel’s sister, has a Down syndrome child.”

“I know.” Sarah pictured the small, smiling face in her mind. “Of course you will be concerned, but that doesn’t mean it will happen to you. We’ll see to the tests at the appropriate time.”

“Denke.” Anna’s eyes were suspiciously bright, as if tears lingered there. “My niece is a lovable, loving child. If it happens to us ... well, it will be as God wills.”

Sarah patted her hand again. There was little else she could say. “You have a gut head on your shoulders, Anna. I know you will not brood on this slight possibility.”

“Right.” Anna seemed to shed some of her apprehension. “You will deliver my babe, ain’t so?”

“Ja.” Time for the words she’d said to each client today. “You know about Aunt Emma’s problems. She wants to turn her practice over to me.” She could only hope her own doubts didn’t show in her voice.

“You’re all right?” Anna seemed to hear beyond the words.

Sarah blew out a breath. “I think so. I just ... well, it’s not what I expected when I came.” Just a few weeks ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. “Always before I was in practice with other midwives. I had someone to consult, to turn to for advice.”

“You can still do that, ja? Emma has a lifetime of experience.”

“She does. But she has been so sad—” She shouldn’t talk about her aunt, but she needed to, and somehow she had known since they first met that she and Anna would be friends. “She seems to feel so useless now. It’s as if she’s given up, and I don’t know how to help her.”

“I’m sorry.” The clasp of Anna’s hand was warm and comforting. “It’s early days yet. And Emma is a strong woman.”

“One of the strongest I’ve ever known.” Sarah appreciated hearing someone else say what she believed.

“You have a gut head on your shoulders, too, Sarah. You won’t let yourself brood on this.”

Sarah had to smile at Anna quoting her own words back at her. “No, I won’t. But I do wish I could find a way to show her how much she means to people.”

Something sparked in Anna’s eyes. “Will you and Emma be going to her son’s next week for Christmas?”

“Maybe just for the day, depending on how Aunt Emma feels by then. She’d rather sleep in her own bed. Jonas’s family will come to visit on Little Christmas, I think.”

Christmas Day itself was a time to remember God’s amazing gift of His son. The next day, Little Christmas or Second Christmas, was for visiting with family and friends.

“Why? What are you thinking?”

Anna shook her head, smiling. “Wait until I see if I can make it happen.” She glanced at the door to the hall. “My Englisch friend Rosemary Welch is driving me today. She wants to talk with you, if you are willing.”

“Ja, of course.” She dismissed the question of Christmas from her mind. “Is your friend looking for a midwife?”

“Sort of.” Anna sounded evasive. “Let me bring her in so that you can hear it from her.”

Sarah nodded. Englisch women were not as likely as Amish to want a home or midwife-assisted birth, but it did happen. Her former practice had had several Englisch clients.

Anna disappeared into the hallway and reappeared a moment later, clasping the hand of her friend. Anna found it harder to guess the age of an Englisch woman than an Amish woman, but she’d guess the woman to be about Anna’s age or maybe a few years older.

“Sarah, this is my friend and neighbor Rosemary. She is expecting in March.”

“Wilkom, Rosemary.” Sarah waved to a seat. “How can I help you?”

The woman looked around curiously as she sat down. “I’d never even known anybody who had a midwife for her baby’s birth before I came here. It seems like most of my Amish friends prefer it.”

As always, it took Sarah a moment to adjust her mind to the quicker tempo of English speech. Then she nodded. “We are more likely, I think, to see childbirth as something natural rather than as a medical procedure.”

Rosemary nodded eagerly. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. I mean, I’d begun to think we’d never have a baby. We’d been trying forever, and I figured . . . Well, anyway, just when I’d given up, it happened.” Her face was transfigured by the look Sarah cherished . . . the sheer, astonished love for an unborn child.

“And you think you might want to have a midwife attend the birth.”

“Well, I started reading up on it and talking to people. It seems like such a comforting, natural way of bringing a baby into the world.” She smiled, running her hand over the bump under the loose sweater she wore. “I want the best for my baby.”

“I would be happy to—”

“Well, it’s not as simple as that.” Rosemary interrupted her. “See, my husband . . . well, he’s so nervous about this baby you wouldn’t believe it. He’s being way overprotective, and he insists on my seeing a doctor.”

“Then—”

“I’ve heard that sometimes midwives and doctors work together.” Rosemary rushed on, obviously intent on getting it all out. “Is that true?”

“Ja, that’s so. In my practice in Ohio we did that. But here . . .”

“So I figured you could do that with my doctor,” Rosemary said. “I’m seeing a doctor in Pleasant Valley. Dr. Mitchell.”

Sarah took a breath, trying to think how best to say this. “Many doctors are willing to work with midwives, that’s true. But I’m afraid that Dr. Mitchell may not be one of them.” In fact, after their encounter at the clinic, she was sure of it. He’d made his disapproval clear enough. “I’ve heard from several people that he doesn’t approve of midwives.”

Rosemary’s face fell. “I hoped . . . well, you could try, couldn’t you? I mean, maybe if you talked to him and I talked to him, he’d come around. It’s not as if I have any problems. So what do you say?” She sounded confident, but her gaze was pleading. “Please?”

Say no. That was what Sarah wanted to do—what every instinct urged her to do. She hadn’t run into Dr. Mitchell since that day at the clinic, and he hadn’t approached her. Why stir the pot?

But there was the little matter of the promise she’d made to care for mothers and babies to the best of her ability. Aunt Emma’s words about her gift echoed in her mind. How could she deny that for the sake of saving herself trouble?

She took a breath. “Ja. All right. I will try.”

CHAPTER TEN

S
arah
ended up going to the birthday celebration alone. After Aunt Emma’s appointment with her doctor, she had come home silent and withdrawn. Jonas, who had gone with them to the appointment, had urged Sarah not to miss the party even though his mother didn’t feel up to going.

Sarah didn’t have any illusions about Jonas’s reason for offering to stay with her aunt until she returned. He wanted another opportunity to try to convince Emma to move in with him.

Sarah understood only too well. Jonas loved his mother. He felt responsible for her. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t understand her.

Not that she could say she was doing any better. As close as she felt to her aunt, she seemed unable to penetrate the shield Aunt Emma had put up.

Emma believed she was useless. Unless they found a way to convince her that wasn’t true, Emma would be no happier at Jonas and Mary’s than she would be anywhere else.

Lights glowed from the kitchen windows as Sarah approached the Miller house, and two other buggies were parked under the trees. Trying to banish her worries from her thoughts, she mounted the steps and rapped at the back door, smiling a little at the sound of voices and laughter inside.

The door swung wide, and Aaron seemed to fill the opening. He stepped back. Seeming to realize that a dish towel was tied around his waist, he pulled it free and tossed it over his shoulder. Obviously Aaron had been working in the kitchen.

“Sarah, wilkom. As you can tell, the others are already here.” He glanced past her. “Your aunt didn’t join you?”

“I’m bringing her apologies. She had her doctor’s appointment this afternoon, and that tired her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure Molly will want to send some cake home with you for her.” He helped her with her coat, his big hands resting on her shoulders for just a moment before he turned to hang it from a peg in the back hallway.

She untied her bonnet. Had his face tightened a little when he asked about her aunt? Probably. Today might be the celebration of Benjamin’s birth, but it was also the anniversary of the day his mother died—a death for which he still held Emma responsible.

Sarah couldn’t quite repress a sigh. She longed to mend that situation, but how could she when neither of the two people most involved would talk about it?

“Is something wrong?” Aaron must have caught the sound. “Are you worried about leaving your aunt alone in the house?”

“She’s not alone.” She handed him the bonnet to hang atop the coat. “Jonas went with us to the doctor’s appointment, and he’ll spend some time with her while I’m here. I’m just . . . worried about her reaction to this situation.”

He couldn’t ignore that, not without being rude. He’d have to make some response. “She is still feeling low?”

“Ja. The doctor says there’s no reason she can’t live a normal life, but I don’t think he understands. To her, normal is being useful. And right now, she feels completely useless.”

She half expected Aaron to say that retirement was best for Emma and for the community. But he didn’t. He looked down at her, face grave. “This puts a heavy burden on you, I know. I’m sorry for that.”

The lump in her throat was unexpected. “Denke, Aaron.” The words came out in hardly more than a whisper.

Aaron’s hand came out, as if he would touch her in . . . what? Sympathy? Or something more?

“There you are.” Molly appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Sarah, I’m so glad you are here. Komm, schnell. We’re going to bring out the cake.”

She followed Molly into the kitchen. Anna and Samuel were there with their little girl, as well as Rachel and Gideon Zook with their three youngsters. The children’s excitement over the cake with its crown of candles seemed to vibrate in the air.

“Happy birthday, Benjamin.” Sarah handed him the small gift she had brought from herself and Aunt Emma—a knitted muffler. “How does it feel to be sixteen?”

“Ach, all he can think about is his rumspringa, ain’t so, Benjamin?” Nathan ruffled his younger brother’s hair while Molly set the cake in front of him.

“Blow out all the candles now,” Molly said. “Hurry, because these children want their cake before the ice cream melts.”

Happy faces surrounded the table, with every one of them smiling. Except . . . except for the worry that darkened Aaron’s eyes.

What was wrong with him? For a moment Sarah felt nothing but exasperation. Couldn’t he just be happy over his brother’s birthday?

But something had put that worry in Aaron’s face. He might be a bit stubborn on some subjects, but she’d seen enough of him to know that he was a solid, sensible man. Would he be worried needlessly?

The cake was sliced and served around the table, and Molly hustled back and forth from table to counter, making sure everyone had what they needed. The buzz of talk and laughter grew stronger.

Sarah slid from her seat, leaving her slab of cake half-eaten, and caught Molly’s arm. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit? It wears me out to watch you. I’ll do whatever else needs doing.”

“Ach, I’m fine.” Dimples showed in Molly’s cheeks. “You could fetch another stack of napkins for me though. They should be in the pantry, unless those boys have found some other place to hide them.”

“I’ll get them,” she said. Following Molly’s gesture, she rounded the corner.

Sure enough, there was the pantry, shelves lined with filled jars that were probably the gift of neighbors, since she didn’t imagine three men living alone had put them up. But the pantry wasn’t unoccupied. Aaron had one hand braced against a shelf, a brooding look on his face.

“I’m sorry.” He’d probably come in here for some peace and quiet. “I . . . Molly sent me in search of napkins.”

He managed a smile that didn’t quite mask the sorrow in his eyes. “She must have given up on my finding them. She thinks we have some birthday napkins somewhere.” A spasm that was probably involuntary crossed his face.

Sarah’s heart seemed to cramp in response. “This is hard for you. I’m sorry.”

Aaron looked toward the shelves, seeming to scan them, but she doubted he saw them. “We will celebrate Benjamin’s birthday.”

“Even if it brings back bad memories for you.”

“Ja.” For a moment his lips clamped shut. Then he shook his head. “You said to me once that if Benjamin was like anyone, it would be me.”

“I think that is true.” She sensed there was more coming and took a step nearer.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I worry . . .” He sucked in a breath, as if he needed air to say this. “Our father started to drink after Mammi died. He was an alcoholic. He promised over and over again that he would quit. He never did.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“You know what happens during rumspringa.” Anger flared in his face, but it wasn’t directed at her. “Sooner or later someone will show up with a case of beer. Or worse. Benjamin will try it. Sure he will. And what if he is like Daad, and can’t stop? What then?”

Out in the kitchen there was light and laughter and teasing voices. But this small space seemed filled with Aaron’s pain.

“You must stop thinking that way.” She caught his arm, hard as a metal bar. “I understand why you do. Anybody would.” Anybody who accepted the weight of responsibility the way Aaron did. “I have heard that alcoholism runs in families, too, but that doesn’t mean Benjamin will be affected. Think about it, Aaron. The rest of you are all right.”

“Even so . . .”

“Even so, you worry. I know. Have you talked to Benjamin about this?”

“No.” He looked appalled. “How could I say that to him?”

“He’s not a child anymore, Aaron.” She felt his warmth through her hand on his sleeve. She tightened her grip. “Talk to him. Tell him what worries you, one man to another. Don’t you think you owe him that?”

He studied her face, his eyes very dark. “I don’t know. Maybe you are right. I’ll think on it.” He put his hand over hers, clasping it firmly. “You are a gut friend, Sarah. You—”

“Molly wants to know where the napkins—” Nathan cut off his words, probably because he saw them standing so close, hands touching.

Sarah stepped back, knowing her cheeks were scarlet, bumping into the shelf behind her so that the jars clinked together.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck than we have.” Aaron’s voice sounded almost normal. Almost. “We’ll have to give everyone paper towels and be done with it.”

“Ach, here they are.” Nathan reached over Sarah’s head and came down with a plastic package of napkins. “I’ll give these to Molly. Don’t—” He seemed to decide better than to say anything else. Instead he hurried out.

“I’d better go and finish my cake, or Molly will think I don’t like it.” Sarah hurried away, wishing she could plunge her face into a bucket of cold water to remove any trace of the embarrassment she felt.

What must Nathan be thinking? Worse, what must Aaron think?

No one seemed to have noticed that she’d been missing. She slipped into her seat, too aware of the fact that Aaron had entered the room after her. He moved around the table to the coffeepot, taking a long time about pouring himself a cup.

Molly took the chair next to her. “My little bruder is sixteen. I can’t believe it. I remember the day he was born.” A shadow crossed her clear eyes.

“A time of mixed feelings, I know.”

Molly nodded. “I try not to think about that today. It’s not fair to Benjamin.” Her gaze rested fondly on her young brother.

“He’s a fine boy.”

“Ja.” She smiled. “I hope my boppli turns out so well.” She clasped Sarah’s hand. “And that is something I wanted to ask you, Sarah. I have made up my mind. Will you deliver my baby?”

Her words seemed to ring out. Sarah didn’t dare to look at Aaron for fear he had heard. But whether he had or not, there was only one answer she could give.

“Ja, Molly. I would be happy to.”

She didn’t want to look at Aaron, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He had heard. No doubt about that. He stared at her, and his face was dark with anger.

Sarah
had to struggle to stay alert while she sat in the hard plastic chair in Dr. Mitchell’s waiting room. She had promised Rosemary she’d talk to the doctor, and so she would, though she had no great hope of being successful.

It didn’t help that she was so tired. Alice Straus’s baby had decided to arrive in the middle of the night. The pounding on the front door had awakened her and Aunt Emma in the wee hours, and Sarah had rushed off, arriving just about in time to catch the baby. As Alice had said, she and William were old hands at this.

It was fortunate she had arranged for an Englisch driver to bring her to the doctor’s office in town today, rather than relying on the horse and buggy. She’d probably have fallen asleep holding the lines, and Dolly would have taken her right back home again.

She shifted, trying to find a comfortable way to sit in the chair, aware of the curious stares of the elderly Englisch couple who sat across from her. Keeping her gaze fixed on her hands, folded in her lap, she tried to ignore their gaping. Surely, living in Pleasant Valley, they’d seen Amish before.

The receptionist had called one person after another, ignoring her. Deliberately? Perhaps. The woman hadn’t even tried to hide her astonishment when Sarah called.

Dr. Mitchell’s office was in a converted storefront down the main street of town from Bishop Mose’s harness shop. For just a moment she wished she’d consulted the bishop before taking this step. She’d value his advice on dealing with the Englisch doctor.

Or was she just hoping someone would give her a reason not to do this thing? If so, that would be cowardly. She had promised to devote herself to her mothers and babies. She couldn’t back down because it was difficult or because Dr. Mitchell had clearly shown his distaste at their first meeting.

She stifled a yawn. She’d had a busy day seeing clients. Whatever fears she’d had that they would go elsewhere when they heard Aunt Emma was retiring had come to naught. In fact, the practice had begun to boom again.

One patient she’d expected hadn’t turned up today. Had Aaron talked Molly out of coming to Sarah’s practice so quickly?

She couldn’t help but cringe away from the memory of those moments in Aaron’s house when he’d looked at her with such open dislike. Only a short time earlier his gaze had carried a very different message.

She understood his feelings, but that didn’t seem to ease the hurt. Coming as Molly’s decision did, on the anniversary of his mother’s death, it was no wonder he’d reacted badly when he’d heard Molly’s words.

Maybe, if Aaron had talked Molly out of using Sarah’s practice, that would be for the best. Whatever happened, she didn’t want to be the cause of a breach between brother and sister.

As for the breach between her and Aaron . . . well, that had only widened. Her hands clenched each other tightly. For a few short minutes, alone with him, she’d felt closer to him than she had to any man since she and Levi had been newlyweds.

But a relationship with Aaron wasn’t to be. She accepted that, didn’t she?

“Mrs. Mast?” The receptionist raised her eyebrows as she said the name. “Doctor will see you now.”

She rose, breathing a silent prayer for guidance, and followed the woman’s gesture through the heavy door and on into an office. The door clicked shut behind her.

Dr. Mitchell couldn’t have helped hearing her enter, but he didn’t look up from the papers he studied. Was he really that engrossed, or was this a not-so-subtle attempt to put her in her place?

If so, he truly didn’t understand the Amish. For them, humility was a way of life.

The breathing space gave her an opportunity to take in the room. The wall behind his desk was lined with sturdy oak bookshelves, but the desk itself was a metal and laminate affair that looked as if it had been put together in half an hour with a screwdriver. The end wall bore a line-up of framed certificates with various seals bearing witness to his accomplishments.

Dr. Mitchell looked up finally, pushing a pair of round glasses into place. She was struck again by how young he was. Usually it was the older doctors, used to hospital deliveries, who opposed midwives and home births.