The Amish Midwife (22 page)

Ella had told me several buggy crashes occurred every year. Collisions with cars. Nighttime wrecks. Even an accident involving a snowmobile last winter.

I waved and watched the woman pull onto the highway, her horse practically prancing as he gathered momentum on the blacktop. Peggy smiled and waved. In a second she was gone.

The front door slammed and Zed appeared, a hoodie in his hands. He glanced at me but didn’t speak. He shoved his arms through the sleeves of the sweatshirt as he made his way around the side of the house. The air had grown damp and chilly. As I walked back to the office, the sound of an ax rang out from the backyard. The front door slammed again, and Ella came out with the scrap bucket for the chickens.

“Hello,” I called out to her.

She waved and then veered away from the path to the coop and toward me.

“What’s up?” I asked.

She wasn’t wearing her bonnet, and strands of hair had come undone from her bun. “Mom wanted some peace and quiet. She had a phone call and now she’s upset.”

“Oh.”

“She said she needed time on the computer and we needed to go outside.”

I’d been hoping to check if there was a registry message on Zed’s computer, but it looked as though I was headed to the coffee shop again.

“We’re having leftovers for dinner,” Ella said. She made a face. “It’s clean-out-the-fridge night. Mom’s freaking out about money.”

“I’m so sorry, Ella. Leftovers are fine,” I said, pivoting away from her toward the office. After I finished the filing and cleaned the office, I found Zed and Ella sitting on the steps of the front porch. A stack of wood was by the door.

“Mom says she can think better if we stay out here.” Zed zipped up his sweatshirt and Ella put her arm around him. She wore a too-big coat that looked as if it had been her father’s.

“I need to go into town and check my email. Want to come along?” I asked.

Ella frowned.

“I’ll run it by your mom.” I pointed toward the front door. “I need to go get my laptop.”

They parted and I slipped up the stairs between them.

Marta was at the computer, scrolling down the screen, a pen in her hand and a piece of paper on the desk with a list of names and phone numbers written down.

I cleared my throat. Her head turned toward me, slowly. “I’m going to head into town,” I said. “Is it okay if I take Ella and Zed with me? I’ll get them some dinner.”

She nodded and then her eyes drifted back to the computer screen.

A minute later, with my laptop in hand and my tote bag over my shoulder, I hurried out onto the porch. Ella and Zed were standing under the eaves of the cottage, away from the rain that had just started.

“Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll get dinner while we’re out.”

Zed reached the car first and scrambled into the backseat. I held my computer bag close to my chest, not wanting any water to seep through the zipper.

As I started the car, the rain began coming down in sheets, and I thought of Peggy in the downpour. Did buggies hydroplane? Did the horses spook if there was lightning?

Inhaling deeply and blowing it out, I pushed those thoughts from my mind. I had enough going on without fretting about Peggy too.

“Where do you want to eat?” We could have dinner and then stop by the coffee shop.

Neither kid responded at first.

“Burgers?” Zed offered.

“Or pizza.” Ella shrugged.

“Do you like Japanese food?” I asked.

“Have we had that?” Zed poked Ella’s shoulder over the seat.

“I have, but I don’t think you have.”

“When did you have it?”

Ella blushed.

A minute later I pulled into the strip mall. I’d noticed the restaurant the day before.

“Can I check out your computer?” Zed asked. “Once we’re inside?”

I nodded. “Go ahead and carry it in.”

In no time we were settled at a table and admiring the decor: dark teak-wood tables and chairs, Japanese screens, black stoneware, and ivory carvings. We opened the menus. Ella said she liked sushi. Zed asked where she’d had it.

“A place downtown.”

“With?” He clutched my computer to his chest.

“None of your beeswax.” She glared at him. Obviously she wanted to impress me but keep him in the dark at the same time.

“What would you like?” I asked Zed.

“Whatever you order is fine.” He looked around. Voice softening, he added, “But not too expensive. I don’t want to break your bank.”

I decided on a noodle dish and a chicken dish. Ella chose an order of sushi. By the time we had closed our menus, Zed had my computer out of the bag and on the table in front of him, across from me. I was pretty sure a laptop at dinner was on Marta’s forbidden list too.

Zed clicked around for a minute and then smiled. “I found an open network,” he said, flicking his bangs away from his forehead.

“Really?” I leaned forward. “Let me check my messages.”

He turned the computer around, and I clicked onto my email. The waiter approached our table, and Ella ordered for all of us.

I didn’t have any messages from the registry. Ella looked over my shoulder. “Don’t you think she probably married?” She’d figured out pretty quickly what I was up to. “If so, she would have a different last name.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I need to start somewhere.”

“Do you think she lives around here?”

I shrugged.

“If she did, don’t you think she’d come see us sometime?”

“You would hope, but maybe something happened that made her feel like she couldn’t come back.” What sort of things tore a family apart? Misunderstandings. Betrayals. Shunnings. But even people who were shunned came back to visit or at least stayed in contact. What would make Giselle leave and never return?

Zed leaned back in his chair, his big brown eyes shaded by his bangs.

“Do you ever think about your birth family?” I asked.

“Nope.” He crossed his arms. “Never.” His voice was firm.

I slid the computer back to him and he smiled.

The rain continued as we left the restaurant. Surely Peggy was home by now. She was probably finishing the dinner dishes and urging her four-year-old toward bed. Her older sons had probably carried in the groceries and unhitched the horse. Her husband was probably checking the livestock one last time and thinking about which field to plow in the morning, as long as the rain stopped.

When we reached the cottage, Ella and Zed were in a good mood as we clattered up the steps to the porch. The lights were off on the first floor, and Ella felt around for the switch. The computer was turned off too. The clear opening of the woodstove showed that a fire was burning, hot and bright.

“Mom?” Ella called up the stairs.

There wasn’t an answer.

“She’s probably out in her office,” I said.

“I’ll check.” Ella stepped out the door as Zed sat down at the computer. I stopped in front of the stove, warming my hands.

Ella returned a few moments later. “She’s out there making phone calls. She wants to see you,” she said to me.

When I got there, Marta was sitting at her desk with only a small reading lamp on. She wore her cape and didn’t have the heat on in the room. There were shadows under her eyes, and she wore her black bonnet. She looked like a woman who was ready to flee.

“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the chair by the door and then returning to the paper in front of her. She made a mark and then looked up again. “The grand jury convened today.” Her voice was monotone. “I’m to be arraigned Wednesday.”

I wasn’t surprised. “What are the charges?”

“Negligent homicide.” She squinted as she talked. “The autopsy came back Friday and was presented to the jury. There were no signs of a heart defect. No indication of cardiac arrest. So they assume it was my negligence because I didn’t call 911 sooner, based on Lydia’s blood pressure.”

“Are they surmising it was preeclampsia-induced shock?” It was the third leading cause of death in late-term and postpartum women.

“I’m guessing that’s it.”

“What do you think?” I shot Marta a quick look. Her face was expressionless.

“She didn’t have any of the other signs. No swelling. The baby was full term. No abdominal pain.”

“What about fatigue?”

Marta inhaled and then exhaled slowly. “Most women who are nine months pregnant suffer from fatigue.” She had a point. Still, preeclampsia sounded plausible to me.

“The autopsy should have shown if it was preeclampsia, though. Elevated liver enzymes. Low platelets.”

“Those results were inconclusive,” Marta said. “A little high for the liver enzymes. Borderline for the platelets.”

“How high was her blood pressure?”

“It spiked at 160/110. That’s when I told her she needed to go to the hospital.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but do you have some savings set aside? Some way to cover the bills until this whole mess is taken care of and you can practice again?”

“Not really,” she said vaguely.

“How about your bail? Any idea how much that will be?”

She tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

“Your bail. How high will it be?” I didn’t even ask whether or not she’d be able to pay me the small amount we’d agreed on that she owed me. I already knew the answer to that. Thankfully I had some money set aside.

She spread her palms flat on the desktop. “I don’t know,” she answered. “My lawyer didn’t say.”

I couldn’t imagine her bail would be all that high. She wasn’t exactly a flight risk, even though she looked like it right now. “When is my replacement arriving?”

She tapped her finger on the list. “I’ve called close to thirty different midwives from Pennsylvania and nearby states. I’m expecting a return call—maybe a couple—tomorrow. Then I’ll know.”

I was sure she was stalling. I would bet good money that she didn’t
have a couple of prospects, or even one, ready to call. What would happen to the mothers who were expecting her care? And what would happen to Ella and Zed? Would they be eating oatmeal for dinner? What if Marta couldn’t post bail and ended up in jail? Surely someone from their church would come through and help. It wasn’t my responsibility.

But they were my cousins…

Birth cousins. Not legal cousins, I reminded myself. I had no obligation. Except that I liked them more and more every day.

“I’m sorry for all of this, Marta, but I was planning on leaving in the morning,” I said.

“So be it,” she answered.

I backed out of her office and crossed the sodden lawn. The wind and rain were blowing through the stand of evergreens. I stepped into the side yard. Zed had left the ax in the chopping block. I remembered doing that when I was about his age and then the lecture from Dad, reminding me that we needed to take good care of what we had, that it was a way of honoring God. I yanked the ax from the wood and slipped it under the tarp over the woodpile.

Later, as I settled into bed, I heard Marta knock on Ella’s bedroom door and go in. I tried to stay awake to hear any words they might exchange, but I fell asleep to the sound of the rain against the alcove window. It wasn’t until the morning when Ella came out of the bathroom, her eyes puffy and red, that I realized how upset she was about the news of her mother’s arraignment. Her whole world had just shifted.

I slipped from the bed and pulled out the carved box. I wrapped it in my baby quilt and then slid it back in the cloth bag. Next, I packed my bag. I would stop by Klara’s house and demand to see
Mammi
. Then I would head to the hospital to see if Sean was free for a farewell lunch. If not, I hoped he would come to Philly to see me sometime soon.

I’d had enough of Lancaster County.

E
lla and Zed had already left for school by the time I finished my shower. I’d wanted to tell them goodbye, but maybe it was better this way. I’d never been very good at farewells. I lugged my suitcase down the stairs and through the living room, ignoring Marta, who sat at the dining room table with her phone to her ear and the same list from the day before in front of her. Next I gathered my computer and the bag with the box and quilt, my coat and my tote bag, and deposited them in my car. All that was left was to tell Marta goodbye.

I stood in the living room, warming my hands by the woodstove while she spoke on the phone. I purposefully tuned her out. Maybe she was still trying to recruit another midwife to help her. Maybe she’d found one, after all, and was working out the details. Maybe she hadn’t found one and was trying to cancel her appointments for the day—which would be quite a feat, considering that most Amish seemed to check their message machines in the barn only once every few days. Oh, well. It wasn’t my problem.

“Lexie?”

I stepped into the archway between the two rooms.

“I wanted to say goodbye.” The ribbons on her head covering hung
loose and the rings under her eyes were more pronounced than the day before. She wore the same mauve print dress she’d had on for the last few days, but now it was wrinkled and limp. “Thank you for your help,” she said, extending her hand. I took it and she squeezed mine, and then she quickly let go. “Blessings to you and your work in Philadelphia. I’m afraid I’ll have to mail a check to you rather than pay you now. Though it might be a few weeks.”