Sarah's Gift (18 page)

She must have been as aware as Sarah was of the whispers and speculation making their way around the crowded room. For the Englisch, it would probably be a matter of minor interest, with sides being taken according to how each person felt about midwives.

For the Amish, the situation was far more complicated. To have an Englisch doctor threaten to close down an Amish midwife practice would naturally bring in conflicted emotions—memories of times past when the Amish had been persecuted by their neighbors, fears of a strain put on other Amish businesses by the prejudice that could result, concern that Amish women would have their childbirth choice taken away.

Sarah’s throat tightened with the tears she wanted to shed. What must Aunt Emma be thinking? That she had brought Sarah here, entrusted her precious practice to Sarah, only to see it destroyed by Sarah’s actions.

She drew up at the back door, as always, to let Aunt Emma down. Impulsively, before her aunt could move, she turned to her, grasping her arm.

“Please, Aunt Emma. Talk to me. I have brought a terrible thing down on everything you built, and I don’t know how—”

“Ach, there’s no need for such grieving.” Aunt Emma’s first look of surprise changed instantly to one of caring. “I’m not blaming you for what has happened.”

Sarah couldn’t accept absolution so easily. “If I hadn’t come here, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you hadn’t come, I might have lost a mother and baby entrusted to my care. I can never forget that, and you mustn’t, either.” She clasped both of Sarah’s hands in hers. “Sarah, Sarah, the only thing you did was put the patient’s interest ahead of your own.”

“You’d have been wise enough to handle Dr. Mitchell better, I think.” Sarah struggled to blink back tears. “Was I wrong to go to him?”

Aunt Emma’s gaze slid away from hers. “I don’t know, and that’s the truth. We already knew his answer would probably be no, from all we’d heard from other folks. When the woman asked you . . .”

“An Englisch woman. There are those who are saying I shouldn’t have put the practice in danger for an outsider.”

“Well, then, they’re wrong.” Her voice suddenly stronger, Aunt Emma squeezed Sarah’s hands, meeting her gaze again. “Ach, I know that well enough. Our gift as midwives is for any woman who comes to us, Amish or Englisch.”

Sarah searched her face. “Just answer me this. Would you have gone to Dr. Mitchell?”

Aunt Emma was silent for a long moment, and Sarah knew that her answer would be the truth. Finally she sighed. “Probably not. But it’s done now, and we’ll stand together and face whatever trouble comes.”

“You deserve to have things a little easier now.” Sarah’s voice broke with the pain. “That’s what I wanted to give you.”

“That’s what I thought I wanted. All I thought I
could
want from my life after the stroke.” Her aunt’s smile erased years from her face. “You and all those babies showed me I was wrong. I still have something to give. And I still have a duty to do what is right, no matter the cost.” She pressed her cheek briefly against Sarah’s. “Now stop worrying. We will do what we have to, and in the end, it will be in the hands of God.”

“Ja.” Sarah closed her eyes for a second, searching for strength. “You are right. It will be His will.”

There was no resignation in the thought. Just comfort, and the knowledge that whatever happened, God would use it for His purposes.

Aunt Emma climbed down, heading toward the porch. The horse, recognizing that his day was nearly over, trotted toward the stable without her needing to touch the lines.

“There, now.” A few minutes later Sarah was rubbing the horse down, talking as she did so. “You’ve had a cold day, but now you’re in.”

She led him into the stall, and he headed for the hay rack. She checked to be sure the water hadn’t frozen in the bucket. May as well do the feeding now, since the afternoon was nearly gone, and the outside chores would be finished.

Sarah took a step toward the feed barrel and then stopped. That almost sounded like a footstep in the hay loft. Probably an animal, seeking warmth, but—

“Is somebody there?” she called, feeling a bit foolish.

Answering footsteps. She looked up to see Benjamin looking down at her.

“Benjamin! What on earth are you doing up there?” Her mind scrambled for logical answers and found none.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Sarah. I saw you were not here.” He climbed down the ladder and stood before her, his gaze not quite meeting hers. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“Wait.” She clasped his hand to stop him. It felt like ice in her grip. “You’re half-frozen already. Komm. We’ll go in the house and get you warmed up.”

“I don’t want . . .” He hesitated, shot her a glance, and looked away again.

Sarah had seen that look before, on her younger brothers’ faces when they’d gotten themselves into some sort of mischief that they didn’t want to confess but couldn’t see their way clear of.

“Explanations later,” she said briskly, tugging him toward the door. “We’ll get you warm first, and then we can talk about the trouble, whatever it is.”

He pulled back, just for an instant. He could yank his way free of her easily enough, but he didn’t attempt that.

“Why do you think I’m in trouble? Has Aaron been talking to you?”

Trouble with his big brother, then. “I haven’t seen Aaron.” She smiled, patting his arm. “But I have two younger brothers who always came to me when they were in a fix. I know the signs.” She tugged again. “Komm, schnell.”

Seeming to give in, he walked along quietly beside her. She glanced at his face once, to find him looking across the field to where smoke rose from the chimney of his own home, something almost tragic in his eyes.

Well, at sixteen you always thought your current problem was the worst thing that had ever happened. Not that she’d say that to Benjamin. He’d only be offended if she didn’t take it seriously, whatever it was.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A
unt
Emma turned from the stove when they entered together, giving Sarah a questioning look.

“Benjamin needs to warm up a bit before he goes on home,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Komm, sit here by the stove.” She piloted him to the chair closest to the heat. Poor boy did look half-frozen.

“I have some vegetable beef soup heating already,” Aunt Emma said. “It will be ready in a moment. Sarah, why don’t you fix Benjamin a mug of hot chocolate? The water is warm already. I thought we’d enjoy that after driving home in the cold.”

She went on chattering cheerfully, her words filling up the silence with a sound as gentle and welcome as the crackling of a fire on the hearth. By the time Benjamin had shed his jacket and stretched out his hands to the stove, Aunt Emma was filling a bowl with the steaming soup.

“There, now,” she said, setting it in front of him. “I believe I’ll take a little rest before supper, Sarah.”

Her glance conveyed volumes.
Talk to him,
it said.

Sarah nodded. “Gut idea.”
I’ll try.

They heard Aunt Emma’s footsteps go heavily up the stairs. Sarah poured the hot chocolate into mugs and sat down opposite Benjamin. “Better now?”

He nodded, seeming to inhale the soup. “Don’t know when I’ve been so cold.”

“Do you want to tell me what you were doing in the stable?”

He frowned down at the mug of cocoa. “I . . . I stayed at a friend’s house last night. His daad insisted on driving me home, but . . . but I had him drop me off here. Said I’d walk the rest of the way.”

He seemed to run out of words.

“But you didn’t go on home.”

No response.

“Is it maybe that you weren’t ready to see them yet? Or you were trying to think what to say to them?” She kept her voice even, not judging.

Benjamin shot her a look. “You sure you didn’t talk to Aaron today?”

“I didn’t see any of your family today.” She’d been busy with her own concerns. She brushed away the weight of worry about Dr. Mitchell and concentrated on the troubled boy in front of her. “But I think maybe I can guess that you had a quarrel with someone at home.”

“Aaron.” His jaw clamped on the name, and she thought that was all he’d say. Then the words burst out of him, rushing pell-mell like a boulder rolling downhill. “I know I did wrong, but it wasn’t my idea. One of the older guys brought a six-pack to the party. He called me over, offered me some. How could I say no?”

He looked very young, and very vulnerable. So he’d had something to drink, and obviously Aaron had found out. It was the worst thing Benjamin could do in Aaron’s eyes, and coming on top of learning the truth about his mother’s death, it must have been devastating.

Her silence must have done what words would not, because Benjamin shifted uneasily in his chair. “Well, I guess I should have said no. But it’s not so bad, is it? Lots of guys drink a beer now and then. Some of the girls, even. Aaron didn’t need to act like I’d broken every one of the commandments.”

“Benjamin . . .” She took a breath, praying silently for guidance. “I don’t think you could expect him to like it, could you?”

His mouth worked. “I know. And it was the first party I ever gave. He and Molly—they’ll probably think I should never have another one. But Aaron was so . . . I’ve never seen him like that.”

“If I were making a guess, I’d say that Aaron said more than he intended to in the heat of the moment.” She chose her words as if she were picking her way across the icy pond. Benjamin should know what Aaron feared, but it wasn’t her place to tell him. “I’m afraid he was already upset by . . . by something I said to him. I imagine when you see him, he’ll be wanting to be friends again. Like you.”

“Do you think so?”

“Ja, I do.” She patted his arm, rising. “I’ll get you some more soup. You must be hungry if you’ve been hanging around here all afternoon.”

“Denke, Sarah. But I’d better start walking. It’ll be dark soon.”

“You don’t need to walk. I can—” She stopped, hearing the sound of a horse and buggy approaching the house. She went to the window and peered out.

“It’s Aaron.” Had he come because he knew Benjamin was here? Or for some other reason? Last night had been . . . complicated. She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk to him again already.

Benjamin’s spoon clattered on the table. “How did he know I’m here?”

“I can’t even guess, but he’s here now, so you won’t have to walk home.” She tried to sound as if it were any ordinary visit. “I’ll just step out and speak to him while you get your coat on.”

Hurrying a little, Sarah wrapped her shawl around her and went outside with no clear idea in mind of what she would say to Aaron. She just knew she couldn’t let the two brothers meet without at least trying to mend the breech between them.

Aaron jumped down from the buggy and strode toward her, a frown darkening his face. “Benjamin—is he here? Matthew Kile said he dropped him off here hours ago.”

“Ja, he’s in the kitchen.”

The frown deepened, if possible. “You should have sent him home.”

She would not let herself respond in anger to his tone. “I found him not half an hour ago, hiding in the barn. He’d been there for hours, and he was half-frozen. I brought him inside and gave him something hot to eat.”

He had the grace to look ashamed at his hasty words. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to imply that you were hiding him from us. We’ve just been so worried. Molly is nearly out of her mind with wondering what happened to him, and I . . .”

He didn’t finish, but she knew the rest of it, because she knew him. “And you have been blaming yourself.”

“Ja.” The muscles in his jaw clenched visibly. “I suppose he told you what he did.”

“He told me he’d had some beer, ja. One of the older boys brought it to the party.”

“He told you that? He wouldn’t answer when I asked where he’d gotten it.”

“Why do you think that is?”
Oh, Aaron, stop and think about this.
Her heart ached for him, trying so hard to do the right thing for his siblings.

His lips firmed, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he gave a small shake of his head.

“Because I was yelling at him, I suppose. Because I went through the roof when I knew he’d been drinking. You know why, Sarah.”

“Ja,” she said softly. “I know. But Benjamin doesn’t. Don’t you think you should tell him?”

“No.” He pushed that thought away with both hands. “I can’t. I can’t let him feel what I do about our father.”

“But if he doesn’t know why you feel so strongly about it, how will he understand?”

He looked at her, eyes tortured, and his pain pierced her heart. “I can’t, Sarah. Somehow I must keep him from following our father’s path, but I can’t tell him what happened the day he was born. There must be another way.”

“If there is, I think it does not involve shouting at him.” She tried to smile, hoping to take any sting out of the words.

“I know.” He reached out, clasping her cold hands between his, warming them. “You’re a gut friend to us, Sarah. It wonders me that you’re willing to be bothered, as much trouble as we are.”

She knew the answer to that, but she couldn’t share it with him. “We’re neighbors. That’s reason enough.”

The cold wind ruffled the shawl, and a shiver went through her. Aaron rubbed his hand on her arm.

“You’re the one who’s frozen, standing out here talking. Komm, let’s go in. I promise I won’t shout at Benj for causing us so much worry.”

She nodded, turning to mount the steps, very aware of him close behind her as they went into the house.

“Here is Aaron,” she said cheerfully when they reached the kitchen. “Ready to give you a ride home.”

Benjamin froze, it seemed, looking at his big brother with wide, vulnerable eyes. “Aaron? I . . . I’m sorry.” His voice was uncertain.

Aaron crossed the kitchen in a few quick strides and pulled his younger brother into a hug, holding him for a moment. He ruffled Benjamin’s hair. “We’ve been worried about you.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Let’s go home. Molly won’t be content until she sees you.”

Sarah watched them go, tears trembling on her lashes.

Please, Father. Help them to understand each other. Please.

The
worship service had ended, and Sarah stood with Anna and Rachel. She felt a surge of gratitude toward them. She’d been nervous when she and Aunt Emma arrived for worship this morning, sure that her troubles had been the main topic of conversation among the Pleasant Valley Amish for the past two days.

She wouldn’t have been overly surprised if people had kept their distance this morning. Perhaps some did, but Rachel, Anna, and Leah had more than made up for that by drawing her instantly into their circle.

She’d sat between Anna and Rachel during the service, with Leah behind them at the end of a pew, convinced that she’d be taking her small daughter out at some point during the three-hour service. Little Rachel had surprised her mammi by getting through the service, but they’d gone out quickly afterward in search of a bathroom.

“It’s gut to see your aunt looking so well.” Rachel nodded toward Emma, who was chatting with a few of her oldest friends. Around them, men and boys worked at transforming the large shed that had served as their sanctuary into a dining area where everyone would be fed.

“She has been better the past couple of days.” Sarah hesitated, but if she couldn’t talk openly about it to these two, then with who? “I feared she’d be devastated by Dr. Mitchell’s threats, but the trouble seems to have revived her instead.”

“Ja, our Emma has always been a fighter,” Rachel said.

Anna nodded. “She’s never hesitated to say what she thinks to women who don’t follow her rules during pregnancy or fathers who don’t think newborn testing is necessary. A prejudiced young doctor isn’t going to scare her.”

The words were comforting. “You’re right. But still, I wish I hadn’t caused this trouble.”

“You didn’t, and that’s what I’ve said to anyone who dared say different to me.” Anna squeezed her hand. “Rosemary has been blaming herself, too, for bringing it up, but it seems to me Dr. Mitchell is the one in the wrong. He doesn’t have the right to tell us how we should have our babies.” Anna looked like a bit of a fighter herself.

“That’s true,” Rachel said. She ran her hand over her belly. “I want you and Emma to deliver this baby, no one else. I’m not going to a hospital with strangers and machines and unfamiliar ideas.”

Sarah managed a smile. “You make me feel better, you two. But I know there are those who don’t agree. And that’s their right, too.”

Anna looked as if she were going to burst into speech on that subject, but Rachel put a calming hand on her arm.

“Have you heard anything more?” she asked, her voice low.

“Not a thing. I keep feeling as if something’s about to fall on me.”

“Maybe it’s just talk,” Rachel said. “Maybe Dr. Mitchell spoke out of anger and has thought the better of it.”

“I hope so.” But there was no conviction in Anna’s voice.

Rachel patted Sarah’s arm. “We are all praying about it already.”

“Denke.” There seemed to be a lump in her throat.

Rachel turned. “Ach, there is Aaron. I want to ask him how Molly is doing.”

It looked as if Aaron had been headed toward the door, but he veered in their direction when Rachel waved.

He nodded at their greetings, looking distracted. “I’m going home to check on Molly. Nathan and Benjamin will stay for lunch.” He managed a smile. “Those two never pass up food, that’s certain sure.”

“We won’t hold you up, then, but we wanted to know how Molly is.” Rachel smiled. “No one blames her for not coming out on such a cold morning at this time.”

“Ja, that’s it.” Aaron seemed relieved at having so handy a reason provided for him. “She just . . .” He stopped as two boys carrying a table moved between them. Touching Sarah’s elbow, he drew her back out of their path, and her breath caught at the protective gesture.

“You’re sure Molly is well?” She took advantage of their momentary isolation to ask the question.

His brow furrowed. “I don’t know. She says it’s just that her back aches too much to sit on a bench for three hours, but . . .” He let that trail off, sounding like a man unwilling to venture too far into the particulars of pregnancy.

“I’ll be glad to stop by the house on our way home,” she offered.

“Ja, that would be wonderful gut.” Relief smoothed his forehead. “You don’t need to tell her I was worried.”

She had to smile. “I won’t.” She paused, wondering if she could ask about Benjamin.

“I am grateful to you for your kindness to Benjamin,” he said, making it unnecessary to ask. “I think he is ashamed of what happened, especially causing us such worry when we realized he’d been out all night.”

“I didn’t do anything, but I’m glad if things are better between you.”

“You did a great deal,” he said, his voice firm. “It wasn’t a coincidence that Benjamin hid out in your barn. He trusts you. He wanted to talk to you.”

“When I look at him, I see my own little bruders.” A smile curved her lips, chasing away some of the worry that had been hanging over her. “They were always in and out of mischief and coming to me with their troubles. I wasn’t trying to interfere.”

Or had she been? Certainly she’d felt it would have been disastrous if Aaron had gone in to Benjamin in an unforgiving mood.

“It’s not interfering when it comes from a friend.” His fingers brushed hers, hidden by the fold of her skirt so that no one would see. “If you . . .”

His words trailed off, and he looked toward the door, frowning.

Sarah followed the direction of his gaze. Her breath seemed cut off, as if she’d fallen and had the wind knocked out of her. Bishop Mose stood near the door, talking to the man who’d just entered. An Englisch man wearing a police uniform.

Silence spread through the space as people nudged one another, saw, and conversation stopped. Soon it was so quiet she could hear the low rumble of the man’s voice as he spoke to the bishop.