The Amish Midwife

TWENTY-NINE


Eat something,” Marta said. “Let me make you a sandwich.”

I stood in the middle of her kitchen, taking up half the tiny room, my hands on my hips, feeling like a teenager again. I could hardly believe I’d been here a month and was still begging Marta for answers.

“No, just tell me what you know.” I felt like a broken record.

She wasn’t matching my emotions, not at all. “I’ve told you what I know.” She sighed. “I was twelve when you were born. No one confided in me. I don’t know what Mammi told you today, but you know she’s had a stroke and is on medication. I wouldn’t say she’s a trustworthy source.”

“Whom were we born to?”

“I’m pretty sure you already figured that out.”

I glared at her until she answered anyway.

“Giselle. Right? Isn’t that what you discovered?”

“And who is our father?”

“I already told you. It isn’t my place to say.” Marta took her cap off her head and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Okay, then, tell me about Lydia’s first baby.”

Her eyes were no longer kind. “That’s really not your business, is it?”

“Does it have anything to do with Lydia’s death?”

“Of course not.” Marta turned her back to me, stuffing her cap into her pocket, and then washing her hands at the sink. “Now,” she said, her voice even again. “Tell me again what happened to Ada.”

It was Ella, standing in the doorway, who got me out of the house before I exploded. She grabbed her coat and motioned to me. Like a fool, I thought she had some information.

“Sorry,” she said, as we walked beneath the dark, cloud-covered sky toward the bridge. “I just thought you looked the way I feel when I need to get away from Mom.”

I fumed some more—and then shivered. A cold front was moving in. It was mid-April but felt like February. The weather in Pennsylvania was so fickle, I wondered if spring would ever arrive.

“Maybe you should call Sean,” Ella said. “He might have some advice for you.”

I hadn’t told him yet that Ada and I were full sisters. I hadn’t told Ella either.

“So, are you pretty serious about him?”

I thought of Ada asking me the same thing. “I don’t know,” I answered.

“He sure has a nice house.”

“He just sold it. He’s moving to Baltimore.”

“Bummer,” Ella said, sounding like a patronizing parent.

“He asked me to go with him.”

“And live with him?” She sounded shocked.

“No,” I quickly said. “I would work there. Or go back to school to become a doctor.”

Ella sighed. “You’d have the perfect life. Just think of the house you two could buy. When you got married, you would have something big enough for lots of kids.”

Except that I was already in my mid-twenties, so by the time I was done with my residency I’d be pretty old. I always imagined having babies before my mid-thirties.

“Have you been serious with someone before?” Ella asked.

I told her about James. I was still talking when we reached the bridge, telling her how he played cribbage with an old guy in his neighborhood on Saturday mornings at the park and how he’d drive down to Aurora and go to church with Dad on Sundays. I told her how he hummed “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” when he parallel parked his old car and how he’d never let me pay for anything, even though he didn’t have much money. I didn’t tell her that Ezra’s charm reminded me of James when he was in high school, before he grew up.

“Why did you guys stop going out?” she asked, stopping in the middle of the bridge.

“Because I came here.”

She laughed. “That sounds like a stupid reason.” She turned toward me. “Except that you met Sean…” Her voice trailed off.

“So,” I said, pretty sure I knew what she really wanted to talk about. “How’s Ezra?”

She grinned. “Good. Really good.”

“Ella, you’re sixteen and he’s Amish.”

“He says he’ll leave.”

Obviously he hadn’t joined the church yet so he wouldn’t be shunned, but he wouldn’t be embraced, either. It was hard for me to imagine Ezra living outside the circle of his family.

When we returned to the cottage, Marta was nowhere in sight. I was pretty sure she was out in her office but I was too tired to care. I made myself a sandwich and trudged up the stairs to my alcove.

I awoke that night to Marta shaking my shoulder. “Hannah’s in labor,” she said. “Jonas just called.”

“She’s breech,” I muttered. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“She’s sure the baby turned.”

I’d heard that before.

“She’s three weeks early.”

“Two,” Marta corrected.

I sighed. Sometimes due dates were debatable, and even more so with the Amish.

“Ella is going to go with you,” she said. I began to be aware of the light on in the bathroom.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s snowing,” Marta said. “Take my car. The tires are better. Ella can help you with the chains if needed.”

“Chains.” My feet hit the cold floor and I stumbled to the little window. Amazingly, there was a snowdrift piling up below.

As it turned out, we didn’t put on the chains, but we should have. When we were still two miles from Hannah’s house, I slid into a ditch.

While I was flipping through my contacts to call my 800 number for roadside assistance, Ella pulled out her phone and began texting Ezra, explaining to me as she did that he was at Will’s right now, covering plants, and should be able to get here quickly. After a moment, her phone dinged. “Yep. He says he’s on his way.”

I groaned, picturing the kid racing to our rescue on his motorcycle.

“Tell him to send Will.”

“Will’s coming too,” she said, already typing a reply.

I put my phone away, thinking of poor Hannah in labor and how fortunate for all that she had a couple of big, strong brothers—and that one of those brothers carried a cell phone.

Fortunately, though I’m sure Ezra would have preferred rescuing his sweetheart via motorcycle, the two men soon arrived in a sleigh, their horse prancing about in the frosty air. We all crowded in for the ride back. Will was calm and collected, and as we rode along I seized the opportunity to ask some questions about Hannah—how she was feeling, how often her contractions were coming, how much pain she was in. I could tell my questions were making him uncomfortable, so once I felt I had enough basic information, I dropped the matter. After that, all was quiet except for the slushy clip-clop of the horses moving us through the snow.

“Hey, did you guys hear Ada’s in the hospital?” Ella volunteered. “She might even have a brain injury.”

I started to speak, but Will beat me to it.

“Not to worry. Her tests came out all right. No brain injury, only a small cut. Four stitches to the head, but Alexander says they don’t even show because they are hidden by her kapp.”

Even as I was relieved to hear such good news, I felt a twinge of jealousy that Will had found out all of this before I did. She was, after all, my sister.

When we reached the farm, Hannah’s husband, Jonas, met us at the door of their house, which I hadn’t been in before. Hannah was in the back bedroom, and it was cold as ice. In an adjacent room, little Rachael was asleep in a crib, covered with blankets.

I instructed Ezra to build up the fire and told Ella to close all the doors in the house except for the back bedroom. If it didn’t heat up soon, I would move Hannah into the kitchen. She was warm from labor and had no idea how cold it actually was.

She was right, the baby had flipped, but it was still a difficult labor with intense back pain. Hannah was quiet and withdrawn, pulling away from her husband. Finally I got on the bed beside her. “Hannah, are you afraid?” I whispered.

She nodded.

“May I pray for you?”

She nodded again.

I put my arm around her shoulder and prayed silently, the way I’d seen Marta pray all those weeks ago, asking God to take away Hannah’s fear and give her the strength to have the baby. I whispered, “Amen” when I was done.

A couple of minutes later Hannah closed her eyes and growled as a contraction overtook her. After a few more contractions, I checked her. She was ready to push. An hour later, at 5:17, a little girl slipped into the world, perfect in every way. Baby number 263; number eight in Lancaster County. Hannah fell into her husband’s arms and sobbed as I suctioned the baby. I then wrapped her in the warm blankets Ella had brought in and tucked the baby in the bed beside Hannah, covering them both with more warm blankets. A few minutes later Rachael called out from her room in Pennsylvania Dutch. Maybe she’d heard us, or maybe it was her usual waking time. Jonas went and got her. He returned with the girl and she fell onto the bed beside her mother, hugging her and then kissing her little sister’s head.

In all the other deliveries I’d done over the years, I searched the faces of the babies…the mothers…the fathers…the grandmothers. This was the first time I searched the face of the older sister. I found myself looking at her over and over, staring when I could. Her face was lit up and full of joy. She was elated. I’d never seen such happiness.

“What do you think?” I knelt beside the bed, level with her.

“She is wunderbar,” Rachael said. “I love her already.”

I stood and slipped away, not wanting to explain my tears, my loss, not even to myself. After a while Rachael climbed off the bed and went down the hall. I heard her laughter, mingled in with Ella’s and Ezra’s. I heard Will’s voice and then the door close. Ella returned with Rachael, holding the little girl’s hand, asking Hannah what she wanted to eat and then telling me that Will and Ezra had gone after the car. The snow was already melting.

By eight o’clock, Ella and Rachael were both asleep on the living room couch and the house was warm. Hannah’s mom had arrived and taken charge of the kitchen. Nancy hugged me when I entered, thanking me for taking such good care of Hannah, and inviting me to have a cup of tea and breakfast.

“I hear you’re Marta’s niece.”

I nodded.

“Which makes your mother Giselle?”

“Yes,” I said, wanting to add, at least I think so, but I didn’t. “Did you know Giselle?”

“Oh, yes,” Nancy said. “We were all very close. The Lantz sisters used to visit us a lot. My mother and Frannie were good friends. They were both young widows. It’s a shame how everything turned out. I still see Klara and Marta, but it’s not the same.”

I wrapped my hands around my mug of tea, hoping she’d continue.

“Klara and Giselle were as close as any two sisters could be, and both were so protective of Marta.” Nancy went on to say that later, during all of their rumschpringes, Klara couldn’t get it out of her head that Alexander was interested in Giselle, even though it was obvious he was smitten by Klara. It looked as if I’d finally found my Amish gossip. She sighed. “Poor Alexander,” she said. “I don’t think he’s ever recovered from Klara not trusting him.”

“Do you know what happened to Giselle?”

“No.” Nancy looked straight at me. “I really don’t know.” She stood and put another piece of wood in the fire. “But I’ve always wondered.”

After I checked on Hannah one more time and woke Ella, I asked Nancy where Will was. I wanted to thank him for pulling Marta’s car out of the ditch.

“He took Christy to the doctor,” she said. “Hired a driver. They left just after I arrived.”

I must have looked pleased.

“He’s taking her to a specialist. The first doctor thinks something is wrong with her heart.”

Marta had canceled my appointments for the day, so I slept soundly until I heard a man’s voice downstairs and sleepily thought it was Zed’s, meaning it was late afternoon and he had arrived home from school. It wasn’t until I reached the bottom stair that I realized the voice was way too deep to be Zed’s—it was Will, sitting on the sofa with a girl who looked to be ten or eleven, leaning against him with her eyes closed.

“This is Christy,” Will said, his voice low. “I’m afraid she’s all tuckered out.”

Her hair was strawberry blond and she had a pinched expression on her face, even in her sleep. I stared at her for a moment, wondering if she looked like Lydia.

Marta turned a little, her head popping out of the wingback chair, and Will cleared his throat. “I just saw Ada in the hospital. She said to tell you hello.”

I searched his face, wondering if she’d told him we were sisters. From his look I didn’t think she had.

“She thinks she’ll go home tomorrow,” he said.

Marta turned toward me again. “But that’s not why Will is here. He tells me you’ve been sleuthing.”

It took a minute, but then I realized she was probably talking about Lydia’s file, the one I had read through even though I shouldn’t have. So be it. I had done it for Marta’s own best interests.

I ignored her as I sat on the hearth with the warm stove behind me, facing Will. “Your mother said you were taking Christy to a specialist today.”

“I was just telling Marta,” he said, glancing down at a piece of paper in his hand. “He said Christy’s been having a cardiac arrhythmia, caused by spasms,” he added. “And he’s put her on medication.” He nodded toward me. “Thanks to you.”

I leaned forward, my own heart racing, although not irregularly. If this were really true, it would change everything for Marta.

“I told him about Lydia, like you said,” Will continued. “He told me there’s some evidence the condition is hereditary. He said Lydia might have had a series of spasms during labor that cut off her oxygen—and the baby’s.”

I turned toward Marta. “It wouldn’t have showed up in the autopsy.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because the spasm would have relaxed once she died. There wouldn’t have been any evidence. It’s not like cardiac arrest. There wouldn’t have been any scarring.” I stood and faced my aunt. “You need to call your lawyer.”

Marta moved like molasses. Will said they needed to go because they had a driver waiting. We all said goodbye. I thanked him profusely for coming by. As soon as Marta shut the door behind them, I said, firmly, “Call your lawyer, Marta. Now.”

“You think this is significant?” Her eyes clouded over.

“Yes!” Over the past month, there had been many times I had wanted to give Marta a shake, but never as badly as right now. I was still trying to find the right words to spur Marta into action when Zed clomped up the outside steps and burst inside. His mother was still just standing there, frozen, so I told him the good news and together we finally got her to move. I think she had become so resigned to the situation that she simply didn’t know how to respond now that it had been turned on its ear.

Together, she and I called the lawyer and explained everything we’d just learned. The woman sounded pleased but said we’d need Christy’s medical records and an affidavit from an ob-gyn indicating that the condition could have caused Lydia’s death during labor.

“No problem,” I told her, certain that Will would give permission for the release of the files. I handed the phone back to Marta, pulled out my cell, and sent Sean a text saying I needed to talk with him ASAP. Waiting to hear back from him, I listened to Marta’s end of her conversation, thrilled to know that she might be exonerated. I wasn’t sure if the DA would pursue charging her with practicing without a license, even though the state didn’t grant them, but at least it looked as if she wouldn’t end up in prison.

I drove out to check on Hannah and Alice Elizabeth, the name she and Jonas, with Rachael’s help, had decided on. All was well with them. Hannah was happy, a state I hadn’t seen her in since I met her. Rachael was still overjoyed and followed me around like a puppy.

After that I took the long way home, slowing as I passed Klara’s. A van was out front, and I assumed they had hired a driver to bring Ada home. For a moment I considered stopping, but then I decided to keep going. As I drove I called Sean, putting him on speakerphone once he answered. I explained to him what was going on, and we talked through the details of what might have happened the night Lydia died, if she did have an arrhythmia.

“It’s very plausible,” he said. “I had a patient last year with arrhythmia. Of course it was diagnosed, so we knew she was high risk. She ended up with a C-section.” He offered to put me in touch with a buddy of his, a specialist who would probably be happy to sign an affidavit on the subject.

“This means you can finally get out of there, right?” he added.

I wasn’t sure. “I don’t have all my answers yet.”

“Lex,” he said. It was the first time he’d shortened my name, and it caught me off guard. “You’re never going to get all of your answers. It’s time for a new start. Think positively. You’ll love Baltimore, I promise. We’ll have a blast.”

I kept busy over the next few days with pre- and postnatal visits, including one to Paradise to see Susan Eicher, who was doing much better. Her kids were healthy and the ladies from her district had been helping her with housework and her garden. As I left Paradise, I passed right by Lavonne Bauer’s house but couldn’t work up the nerve to stop.

Instead I drove into town to Esther and David’s to check on little Caroline. Simon was the happy little boy I remembered from before he became a big brother, and Esther and David, although they still looked exhausted, seemed much more relaxed than they had for a while.

There were several boxes by the bookcase. “We go to Ethiopia in two weeks,” David said. “Right after graduation.”

I held the baby, settling into the rocker with her, and after a while she closed her eyes. Simon patted her head and then ran off. I closed my eyes too, for just a moment.

My next concern was Ada. I texted her several times but didn’t hear back from her. I’d done some research on hereditary spherocytosis. I knew I didn’t have it, but there was the possibility that I was a carrier. My children, depending on who their father was, could inherit the disease. Normal red blood cells lived for four months, but the cells of a person with HS only lasted three to six weeks. The spleen of a person with it was also frequently enlarged and was sometimes removed—not the case with Ada, as far as I knew. It wasn’t uncommon for the disease to go undiagnosed for years and for the patient to suffer fatigue without knowing what it was from. It sounded as if that was what happened here.

At least the disease wasn’t life threatening. Folic acid and ascorbic acid, which I assumed Ada took, helped. Transfusions were given when needed. Ada could live a mostly normal life, minus too much exertion and contact sports. Another interesting fact was that it was more common in those of northern European descent. That certainly fit Ada—and me, whatever the particulars of our story were.

I contemplated driving over to see Ada on Tuesday, five days after she’d been discharged, but I didn’t feel comfortable with that. Maybe she didn’t want to see me. I could handle being rejected by Klara, but I couldn’t bear being rejected by Ada too.

It turned out that Marta’s lawyer was much more efficient than I expected because Thursday morning she called, saying another pretrial hearing was scheduled for the next day.

Marta seemed to assume I would go with her. Connie Stanton met us outside the second-floor courtroom, looking as disheveled as ever.

“I have more good news,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I had a long talk with the DA.” Her eyes sparkled. “He may still charge you with practicing without a license, but it looks as though he’s probably not going to challenge our request for dismissal. The man’s leaving to take a corporate job soon, so it’s a good time for this to come up. I had the impression that he’d like to close up as many cases as he can before his time here is up.”

We followed Connie through the double doors and down the aisle. I stopped at the first row and slid onto the wooden bench while Marta and her lawyer continued on to the table on the right. The DA sat at the table to the left. Because the hearing had only been posted the day before, word hadn’t gotten out and no supporters were present. The four of us rose at the bailiff’s command and the judge entered. A moment later we all sat again. The bailiff stated the reason for the hearing and Connie stepped forward to present the new evidence. The judge held up his hand, stopping her. “I’ve already reviewed the documents you submitted, Ms. Stanton.” The judge turned his attention to the DA and asked if he’d had a chance to consider the new information.

“Yes, your honor,” the man answered.

“And how do you respond to Ms. Stanton’s request that Lancaster County drop the charges of negligent homicide against Mrs. Bayer?”

The DA dropped his head a moment, referring to the legal pad in front of him. Finally he looked up. “Due to the new evidence, I accept the request.”

I put the palms of my hands together in a silent clap. Ella and Zed wouldn’t be losing their mother.

“Counsel members, do we have any other issues to address?”

Connie Stanton replied with a firm, “No, your honor.”

I held my breath as the DA consulted his legal pad again, hoping the man was more concerned about his upcoming career change than some old midwife. If he was, Marta might be able to practice again soon, very soon. I would no longer be needed. But I didn’t have my answers. I still didn’t know the truth. And I, undeniably, felt a connection of kinship with my biological relatives, although some more than others. I was going to miss Ella and Zed and, honestly, Marta too, as annoying as she was.

The DA raised his head. “No, sir,” he finally said. “There’s nothing more that needs addressing.”

The palms of my hands came together again as I exhaled.

“You are cleared of all charges, Mrs. Bayer,” the judge said. “The legal forms will be mailed to you within two weeks.”

Maybe Marta was in shock or maybe she expected it all along, but as we walked out the door she barely talked to Connie. And she didn’t say a word to me until I pulled out of the parking lot onto the street.

Then she whispered, “Thank you.” Her voice hinted that she was close to tears. “You can go now and get on with your life. Leave all of us behind.”

Now I was close to tears. Was that what she wanted? For me to simply disappear and leave her and her family alone? How could I explain to her I didn’t want to depart without my story, the one I’d already asked her for so many times? Not yet. Not until I had the whole truth.

She exhaled and then said, “I can’t wait to get back to work.”

“The afternoon appointments are all yours.”

“Since my first birth, I knew this is what I wanted to do,” she said.

I told her it was the same for me and gave a brief description of that first experience assisting Sophie. Then I asked how old she was at her first delivery.

“Fourteen,” she answered.

“Who was it?”

“The mother? Or baby?”

Before I could say anything, she said, “Ada was the baby.” Before the words sank in, she added, “And Giselle the mother.”

I took a ragged breath.

“And, Lexie, you’re mistaken. You didn’t see your first birth when you were sixteen. You were only two. You assisted me.”