“What’s your name?”
“Tom.”
“Tom?” She glanced down at the children playing on the floor. “We have a Thomas. He’s that one.” She pointed at a tow-headed child barely out of diapers.
“It’s a good name.”
“My name is Laura Mae.”
“Hello, Laura Mae.” The children were playing so quietly, he could hear Claire’s voice behind the closed door.
“I am here now, it is safe to push. We will have this baby here in no time,” Claire said. “You are doing so
gut
!”
“The little ones aren’t supposed to be hearing this,” Laura Mae informed him. “Annette always took us outside or to Grandma’s when she and Claire came.”
Tom knew that Amish parents tried to keep the other children away when there was a birth. Ideally, they were taken to a relative’s house and then brought home later to discover that God had gifted them with a new baby brother or sister in their absence.
Still, he didn’t want to be out of earshot of Claire’s voice if she needed him.
“Let’s go outside.”
All the children besides the baby were old enough to walk, although one curly-headed little doll baby insisted on holding her big sister’s hand to steady herself. Laura Mae was barely able to hold on to the baby with both skinny little arms, let alone use only one.
“I’ll take the baby,” Tom offered.
“Thank you.” Laura Mae’s eyes were grateful. “He was getting kind of heavy.”
As Tom swung the infant up into his arms, he marveled that she could carry him at all. The little guy was a chunk.
Getting them all outside was a production. The kitten had to be taken outside, too, and there was a slight disagreement
about who would have the honor, but after a few short words from Laura Mae in German, one of the two children let go, and the other snuggled the kitten beneath her chin.
The problem was what to do with them when he got them outside. He didn’t want anyone wandering off, and there were almost too many to keep an eye on. No longer encumbered with the baby, Laura Mae took over with as much authority as an adult. There was a low swing hanging by two long ropes tied to a large tree in the front yard. She got the children in line, then set about pushing them one by one in turn.
An old, tired collie wandered out, flopped down, and immediately became entertainment for two of the girls who petted and made a fuss over her. The dog’s eyes rolled back in its head in sheer ecstasy when it rolled over and they began to scratch its belly.
One little guy became absorbed in some pebbles and created his own private game with them, the rules of which Tom could not discern.
With everyone occupied, Tom sat down on a weathered bench and watched these Amish children who could entertain themselves with so little. These little ones were particularly engaging. There were things about being raised Amish that never left a person, a value system that became so deeply embedded that it was next to impossible to shed. Claire, with her careful speech and her modest, plain clothes, was more appealing to him than any of the
Englisch
women he had dated. The fact that she was a respected midwife impressed and intrigued him. This was not a shallow woman.
Claire had set a high standard in his mind—even while still in her teens—and no other woman had ever come close. Age had served only to increase her appeal.
And all he had to do for a chance to have her as his own
was to voluntarily throw off everything about himself that was
Englisch
—including his hard-won profession. Forget he had ever driven a car, or owned a cell phone, or listened to jazz, or worn a pair of Levi’s.
There was also the small matter of not knowing how she would react when he told her who he was. Add his physical limitations and disfigurement, and he didn’t think there was a chance that she would ever care for him.
For all he knew, she would stop speaking to him entirely.
And yet, now that he had seen her, he knew he couldn’t leave. Not now. If he could hang on to his anonymity, he could at least be able to see and talk with her from time to time. That would be better than nothing.
He remembered being a lovesick teenager, thinking about Claire constantly, wanting to keep her in his life forever.
Now here he was. Twenty-seven years older, and still pole-axed whenever he was around her.
Maybe he should leave.
He felt caught between two worlds, paralyzed by his own training and background. The Amish part of him had always wanted a family. Being part of the “Marine” family was no substitute for what Claire had with her rollicking houseful.
A small boy tugged at his pants and said something in German. Tom caught himself in time not to let on that he understood exactly what the little boy was saying.
“He wants to see inside your car,” Laura Mae interpreted.
That was a reasonable enough request. Swartzentruber children seldom got a chance to ride in a car. To do so would mean their parents having to get special permission from their bishop. That permission would not be given unless the need for nonbuggy transportation was great.
“Sure.” Still holding the baby, he took the little guy’s hand
and led him over to the car. Unfortunately, the moment the door was opened, several pairs of curious little eyes followed him—and then all of them wanted to join their brother.
He saw no real harm in allowing them to try out the soft seats. With the keys safely hidden in his pocket, he allowed one little boy the honor of sitting in the driver’s seat, grasping the steering wheel.
“What is this?” One of the older children said, holding up a bag they had found on the backseat.
He had forgotten the bag of candy he had put there. Jeremiah had mentioned having a sweet tooth, and he had purchased some peppermint that he knew his father liked and had planned to take to him tomorrow morning.
He knew these children did not often get treats, and decided that he would buy more candy for Jeremiah at a later time.
He doubted that candy, children, and cars would be a good mix, so he was enticing the children out of the car with the candy in his hand when he heard the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves nearing the house.
An Amish man pulled into driveway behind his car.
“Get out of that car!” He spoke in German to the children. “And why are you taking candy from this stranger?” He climbed down out of the buggy and strode toward Tom. In English, he demanded, “Who are you and why are you here?”
The father was a large man, and wore heavy, sweat- and work-stained clothing. Tom had a feeling that he would do anything to protect his children.
“I’m Tom Miller. I drove Claire Shetler here. She asked me to bring the children outside.”
“You are a driver of the Amish?” the father asked.
“No,” Tom answered. “I am a neighbor to Claire.”
“Claire Shetler? The midwife?” The man’s aggressive attitude changed immediately. “Already?”
“Yes. Apparently, your wife is giving birth,” Tom said. “That is why I brought the—”
“It is too soon!” The man strode off toward the house before Tom finished his sentence.
The buggy horse, reins loosely tied, wandered toward the barn. Tom decided to leave it alone. The father knew exactly where his horse was and would be out soon enough to take proper care of it.
In the meantime, while the horse slurped water from the trough, Tom felt some water himself. The baby, who had been wearing cloth diapers covered by a tightly knit wool “soaker,” had urinated all over the
Englisch
man holding him.
Fortunately, Tom was wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Nothing fancy that couldn’t be thrown into the wash. He wasn’t entirely certain of what to do. He didn’t want to leave the children to go back inside the house, where he was fairly sure things were becoming more and more intense. On the other hand, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of spending the next half hour or so holding a wet infant.
Evidently the infant wasn’t thrilled with being wet, either, and set up a howl.
About that time, a boxy black sedan came lumbering down the road and pulled in. A woman with a gauzy prayer
Kapp
and a dress dotted with sprigs of flowers climbed out.
“Nora!” Laura Mae sang out. “You got my telephone message!”
“I did!” the ruddy-complexioned woman said. She was holding a large black purse on her wrist and wore black leather Nikes on her feet. They seemed incongruent with the pastel, flower-sprigged dress she was wearing, but Tom was
no fashion expert. He saw a competent Mennonite woman to whom he could turn these children over.
“Who are you?” Nora asked, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “And what are you doing to that baby?”
“Tom Miller. A neighbor to Claire Shetler. Annette wasn’t able to come, so I brought her. It sounded like an emergency,” he amended. “The only thing wrong with the baby is that it is wet.”
Clucking her tongue, she carefully removed the dripping infant from his arms. With the warmth of the little body removed, his wet jeans and shirt felt cold against his side.
“You can go home now, Mr. Miller,” she said. “I’m here.”
“I thought I would wait around for Claire to finish up here.”
“I’ll bring her home,” the woman stated firmly.
Tom was not reluctant to go home and change his baby-soaked shirt and pants, but he hated to leave Claire without checking in first. “I’ll go in and let her know I’m leaving.”
“She might be a little too busy to talk to you,” Nora said. “I’ll be happy to give her a message.”
Tom wasn’t sure he liked this woman. It was good to have someone competent and female coming into the house, but she seemed awfully eager to take charge.
He was trying to decide whether to go or leave when all of them heard a newborn baby’s cry from inside the house. Laura Mae gasped and a beatific smile spread over her face. The baby jumped, startled, and began to cry even louder.
“She’ll be needing me to help now,” the woman said, and barged in. “Keep the children out here for a few minutes longer.”
“Wonder if it’s a boy or a girl,” Laura Mae said to him.
“What were you hoping for?” he asked.
“A girl to even things out a little,” Laura Mae said. “We’ve
only got two girls in the family, and all these boys.
Daed
says he needs workers in the field, but
Maam
says she could use some more girls around the house.” Then she glanced at the paper bag in his hands. “The little ones would probably like some of that candy right about now.” She looked at the candy with a wistful expression on her face.
He had forgotten about it. “Of course.” He began to hand it out. The children were polite and all thanked him before they began to suck on the peppermint sticks. Laura Mae pretended that she didn’t need any candy, she just wanted her little brothers and sister to have some, but it didn’t take much to persuade her to take one.
That occupied them until about a half hour later, when the father came out onto the porch and motioned for them to all to come in. “You, too,
Englisch,
” he said. “Come see the new baby the Lord has given us!”
The man’s joy was real and contagious, and yet Tom wondered how he could be so joyful when it was so obvious that they were practically overwhelmed with children as it was. And yet . . . he envied the man.
The baby had been wrapped up like a tiny cocoon and now lay in its mother’s arms. The children gathered around as the father proudly introduced them to their new baby brother. The mother glanced up at him. “Thank you for watching the children.”
“They were very good.”
Claire, he saw, was quietly sitting in the corner in a wooden rocker. Her face was flushed, and a few damp tendrils had fallen out of their neat pinnings—something one did not see often in Amish women. It was obvious that she had worked very hard to help this baby come into the world.
“And thank you for bringing Claire to me,” she said. “I
did not want for Laura Mae to have to deliver this baby. She’s too young.”
“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked Claire. “Or will you be staying?”
He did not expect her to be ready to leave—but she glanced up at Nora. “Can you care for her?” she asked.
“Of course I can,” Nora huffed.
“Then I’d like to go home, if you don’t mind waiting, Tom. I need to gather my things.”
“I don’t mind in the slightest, Claire.”
Nora’s quick glance at him made him wonder if he’d allowed a little too much feeling to creep into his voice.
“E
verything went well for you in there?” he asked, as he drove home with Claire in the backseat.
“Thanks be to God. I appreciate your help with the children.”
“Eight kids under the age of ten,” he said. “That’s nearly one per year. Do you think there’s any chance this baby will be the last?”
“I would be surprised,” she said. “That’s a Swartzentruber family. They are more likely to be farmers, but it is not easy to make a living in the old ways. They need large families and lots of unpaid, willing hands to make it work. Most Old Order farmers are getting out of the business, except for their large gardens and a cow or two.”
“I hate to hear that.”
“I have seen some signs that are encouraging, though.”
“Oh?”
“A few are getting into hydroponics. They’ve had some commercial success in growing salad vegetables out of season. I’ve heard that a modest living can be made on as little as five acres that way, with the right equipment and knowledge. One young farmer, a teacher at one of our schools, raises organic chickens and sells them to specialty markets.”
“And yet some men, like Jeremiah, still farm in the old way.”
“Yes, but Jeremiah is wearing down,” she said, “and his one daughter married and moved away. Our people help him when extra hands are needed, but it is hard on a man like Jeremiah to have good rich ground and no sons to work it. Many people have made Jeremiah offers on his farm, but he will not sell, and he kills himself trying to make it work.”
“Why does he do this?”
“I believe it is because he lives in hope that his remaining son will someday return and take over.”