Sarah's Gift (4 page)

That got the reaction she’d noticed from the other women—a quick look of surprise and speculation. But Barbara didn’t bother to change the subject.

“That is odd, that is. I’d have said that Aaron Miller would not do such a thing in a million years.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Leah said, a warning tone in her voice. “I’m sure we don’t know anything about what jobs Aaron takes on.”

“Ja,” Anna chimed in, as if equally intent on heading off an indiscretion on Barbara’s part. “This time of year I’d guess a carpenter is eager for any job he can get. It’s a gut thing my Samuel still has plenty of horse training to do when the machine shop is quiet.”

“That’s all very well, but I’m still surprised at Aaron.” Barbara would not be diverted. “Everyone in the church district knows how he feels about midwives, whether he talks about it or not.”

“They don’t—”

“He isn’t—”

Leah and Anna both tried to get a word in, but they spoke together and cancelled each other out. Barbara swept on.

“Aaron’s mother died in childbirth when he was no more than fourteen or so. When Benjamin was born, that was. And whether you want me to say it or not, that’s true.” Barbara’s ruddy cheeks grew redder.

“That doesn’t mean he has a prejudice against midwives,” Leah said, her voice firmer than Sarah had yet heard. “I think it’s a subject best left alone, Barbara. Sarah doesn’t want to hear gossip.”

Barbara planted her hands on her ample hips. “Ja, well, I’m not spreading lies about anyone, and it’s chust as well if Sarah knows what she is dealing with. Aaron may try to hide it, but it’s as plain as the nose on my face. He blames Emma Stoltzfus because his mammi died in childbirth, and you all know that’s true.”

The kitchen went still, seeming to echo with the sound of Barbara’s words. Sarah’s hands were frozen on the sandwiches while her mind spun crazily, trying to take it in. Aaron blaming Aunt Emma for his mother’s death? Surely if that were true, Aunt Emma would have said something.

A board creaked in the back hall. Every woman in the kitchen turned to look.

Aaron Miller stood there, his face an impassive mask. Then he turned on his heel and walked off.

Sarah
couldn’t get the image of Aaron’s face out of her mind. She’d tried to find him in the after-church group, hoping to explain, to apologize, but he must have left immediately.

Now, driving home after lunch, she found her mind going over the whole situation again and again. Surely Barbara had exaggerated. The other women had tried to deny or explain away what she’d said, but it was too late. Aaron had heard Barbara’s careless words, and the damage had been done. And if he thought that Sarah had been gossiping about him . . . her face burned at the idea.

Somehow, she had to set this straight. She gazed at the horse’s head, bobbing along ahead of them as Aunt Emma drove down the quiet country road. Other Amish buggies could be glimpsed on a lane that ran perpendicular to this one, and probably there were others behind them. It was a typical Sunday scene in Amish country, serene if not for Sarah’s troubled thoughts.

She didn’t want to believe that Aaron blamed Aunt Emma for his mother’s death. But if he did, it certainly explained his reluctance to be at the house on days when pregnant women were coming in and going out.

They were turning into the lane already. She’d wait until they were settled inside for the afternoon. Then she’d bring the subject up and pray Aunt Emma would not take offense.

When she returned to the house from stabling Dolly, her aunt seemed more animated than usual, as if the three hours spent in worship with her church family had lifted her spirits.

“I was so happy to see you with the other young women.” Aunt Emma was already warming the coffee. “They were making you feel welcome, ja?”

“That’s certain sure.” Sarah hung up her black coat and bonnet in the hall and smoothed her hair back under her kapp. “Our hostess, Leah, is a lovely person.”

“Everyone loves Leah. She was our schoolteacher for quite a few years, and folks thought she’d never marry. Then Daniel Glick and his children moved in next door, and soon they were a family.”

Aunt Emma sat down at the kitchen table. She was carefully not looking at Sarah, maybe because she was comparing Sarah with Leah.

But it wasn’t a fair comparison, was it? Leah had a child of her own.

She had to force a smile. “I understand Leah’s baby arrived before you could get there.”

“Ach, that was a day, that was.” Aunt Emma shook her head. “Of all the mothers I’ve worked with, there were only five or six where I didn’t get there in time.”

“You remember all of them, don’t you?” Sarah sat down across from her aunt. Despite Barbara’s tactlessness, something positive might still come of this. If Aaron had been holding on to a false idea all these years, maybe it was best that it come out into the open.

“For sure I remember. Don’t you?”

“Ja, but I don’t have so many as you to keep track of.” She smiled, thinking of the very first birth she’d attended. She wasn’t sure who had been more nervous, the mammi or the midwife.

“Lots of healthy babies.” Aunt Emma sighed. “And a few who weren’t. Sometimes it’s hard to accept God’s will.”

Sarah nodded. The Amish were more prone than most people to pass on genetic illnesses. The common background that kept them together also made them vulnerable. Still . . .

“A boppli is a blessing, no matter what.” Sarah hesitated, knowing she had to bring up the subject and not sure how to do it. Maybe she should just plunge in and tell it as it had happened.

“When I went to ask Leah if I could help with the lunch, she introduced me to her sister-in-law.”

“Ja? Which one?”

“Barbara.”

“That’s Leah’s oldest brother’s wife. She and her husband have the farm now, and Leah’s daadi lives with them.” Aunt Emma’s knowledge of the families of Pleasant Valley couldn’t be matched.

“Barbara said something that troubled me.” Sarah paused for a silent prayer. “She said . . . She seems to think . . .” This was harder than she imagined. “She thinks that Aaron blames you for his mother dying when Benjamin was born.”

Pain glazed her aunt’s eyes. She shook her head. “Barbara has a gut heart, but sometimes I think her mind and her mouth are not connected. Don’t let her foolish talk trouble you.”

“Maybe it was tactless, but . . . is it true? Does Aaron really feel that way?”

“That’s foolishness.” The words were tart. “The Miller boys have always been gut neighbors to me. You know how people can talk in a small community. If there’s nothing to tell, they make something up.”

True enough, but . . . “So you don’t think Aaron has any bad feelings about his mammi’s dying that way?”

“Would he have agreed to do the work for us if he held a grudge?” Aunt Emma stood abruptly, shoving her chair in with a sharp movement.

Maybe, maybe not. Sarah couldn’t forget the way Aaron had talked the day they’d discussed the addition. As if he’d been building up to saying he couldn’t do it. Then Bishop Mose had come in . . .

“He might have said yes because of the bishop.”

Aunt Emma’s eyes crinkled suddenly. “He might have said yes because it was you doing the asking. Seems to me he was looking at you with a lot of interest.”

“I . . . I’m sure it’s not that,” she said quickly.

“Why not?” Aunt Emma leaned on the back of her chair, as if suddenly tired. “You are as sweet and pretty outside as inside, Sarah Mast. You have to expect men to notice that.”

Sarah rubbed her arms. The suggestion was a chill wind, reminding her of her childless state. “I am not looking for a new love.”

“Sometimes love comes when a woman is not looking for it.”

“Not for me.” And especially not with Aaron Miller. “About Aaron’s mother—”

“Are you thinking I made a mistake, Sarah?” Her aunt’s face tightened. “Is that it?”

“No, of course not. Aunt Emma, I didn’t mean that.”

Her aunt wasn’t mollified. “Look at my notebooks if you want to find out about Aaron’s mother. I keep records of every birth. You will see.” She turned away, stalking toward the stairs.

“I didn’t mean . . .” she began, but Aunt Emma was already gone.

So quickly. Sarah clasped her hands together, searching for calm. So quickly, and a chasm had opened up between them.

CHAPTER FOUR

A
fter
what he’d heard on Sunday, Aaron found it hard to believe he was letting himself get anywhere near Sarah Mast again, let alone continuing the project. But here he was in the unfinished addition, laying out the work to be done with Nathan, while Benjamin lingered, listening. At least he hoped the boy was listening.

He’d decided it was more difficult to explain his feelings to Nathan than to simply get on with the job at hand. The sooner the work was finished, the sooner he could begin ignoring his new neighbor.

“So we’ll replace these two-by-fours with four-by-fours.” He knocked on the offending posts, annoyed as always by carpentry that wasn’t up to par. He wasn’t prideful about his own work, but he liked the idea that what he built would be here when he was long gone.

“Ja, gut.” Nathan shook his head. “I would not like to accuse a brother of doing shoddy work, but . . .”

“But we’ll do better.” Benjamin rubbed his arms. “Let’s get on with it. It’s cold to be working here.”

Nathan snorted. “You think this cold is something? You should have seen us repairing the roof on Jacob Yost’s barn in the midst of the big January snowstorm two years ago. Ain’t so, Aaron?”

Benjamin got his mulish expression at the words. Keeping peace between the two youngest had always been Molly’s role, and she did it much better than Aaron did. Still, he had to try.

“Ja, but this is the coldest November I can remember. The pond is skimming over with ice already.”

Benjamin nodded, mollified. “Wish it would freeze. I’d try out my new skates.”

“Well, the more we get done, the warmer it will be to work. You can tack plastic over the window openings for starters.”

For some reason Aaron found he was picturing the hope in Sarah’s face when she talked about the use to which these rooms would be placed. He didn’t want to think about Sarah at all, and certainly not with any sympathy.

Better to remind himself of how he’d felt when he’d walked into the back hall of the Glick house and heard the women talking in the kitchen. Gossiping about him . . . about feelings he’d spent years hiding.

His hands clenched into fists. He swung around, nearly knocking Benjamin over.

“Sorry.” He grabbed his younger brother by the elbow, steadying him. “I’m going to bring a couple of four-by-fours from the wagon.” Maybe a dose of cold air would clear his head.

It didn’t help. He pulled the posts from the wagon, arguing with himself. He ought to be fair to Sarah. After all, he hadn’t heard her say anything about him. But surely it was her presence that had precipitated that conversation. And she’d stood there listening to the gossip.

He stalked back to the site, balancing the posts on his shoulder. He stepped inside and halted, the posts swinging. Sarah was there.

She caught his eye and looked quickly away, and he seemed to feel her tension across the width of the space.

“Aaron. I was just telling your brothers that chicken potpie is hot on the stove whenever you’re ready to take a break for a meal.”

“Denke.” He turned to put the posts down.

“I could smell it when you opened the door,” Benjamin said. “Sure smells wonderful gut.” He looked ready to break for middaagesse already. “Isn’t it time to eat yet?”

“You’re always hungry,” Nathan said. “Sarah will think you’re greedy.”

“I think he’s a growing boy, that’s all,” Sarah said. “And growing takes a lot of fuel.”

“That’s what Molly always said.” Benjamin grinned, turning from a sulky adolescent into an excited kid all in a moment. “Molly is our sister. She is coming back from Indiana to stay with us for a while.”

“She’s not coming to cook for you,” Nathan said.

“Anything she cooks will be better than what you do,” Benjamin retorted. “And once her boppli comes, I won’t be the youngest one in the family anymore.”

“That is wonderful,” Sarah said. “I’m sure you’ll be a gut onkel.”

The warmth in her eyes touched Aaron in spite of his feelings. Strange, that a woman who took such pleasure in babies had none of her own. She had been married for several years before her husband died.

Maybe she couldn’t have children. His heart twisted in a surge of sympathy that he couldn’t prevent.

“If Molly comes to you for the baby—” Benjamin began.

“We might as well break for lunch, since you’re so hungry. Go on and wash up.” Aaron rushed the words, intent on keeping Benjamin from saying anything else about Molly and the baby.

The eagerness in his brother’s face vanished, and he shot Aaron a look full of resentment.

He shouldn’t have spoken sharply to the boy. But he couldn’t have Benjamin talking as if their Molly would be coming to Sarah for this baby.

“Komm, komm.” Sarah ushered his brothers through the door. “The meal is waiting.”

“Denke, Sarah.” Nathan led the way, with Benjamin close behind him.

But when Aaron approached, she pulled the door to, looking up at him. “Do you mind waiting for a moment, Aaron?”

His jaw set. This was about yesterday. If Sarah asked for his forgiveness, he’d have to forgive, no matter how little he wanted to.

He looked at her, frowning, not speaking. Let her begin, since she was the one with something to say.

“I wanted to talk with you about what happened yesterday after worship.” She took a breath, seeming to find it difficult to go on. “Please believe that I wasn’t prying about you. Barbara Beiler burst out with that even though the others tried to stop her. I would not gossip about you behind your back.”

It might well be true. He hadn’t heard Sarah speak, and everyone knew what a blabbermaul Barbara Beiler was. Still, the subject had only come up because Sarah was there.

He battled the thoughts, knowing she was waiting for his response. “Ja. All right. It’s best forgotten.”

But Sarah didn’t move, and she stood between him and the door, looking up at him with a question in those clear eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked. But what Barbara said—is it true? Aaron, are you blaming Aunt Emma for your mammi’s dying?”

“No.” He forced out the word. He had no choice but to deny it. “It’s a long time ago. The others will be wondering what we are doing. We must go in.”

Sarah shook her head, something that might have been pain crossing her face. “If people believe you feel that way—”

“Barbara loves to gossip.” He couldn’t let her finish the thought. “Even if she’s imagining things.”

Her look rebuked him for the harsh words. “Other people besides Barbara showed surprise that you were working on the birthing rooms. Aaron, if you feel that way, we must talk about it.”

“There is nothing to talk about.” He reached past her for the door. She put her hand on his arm to stop him.

Aaron seemed to feel the warmth of her touch through the layers of shirt and coat. He stared at her, frowning. Angry.

And something more. Attracted. He saw in her eyes the same startled awareness.

No. This could not be. He brushed past Sarah abruptly and went into the house.

Sarah
found herself increasingly keyed up as the time came for patients to start arriving the next afternoon. Aaron and his brothers had worked steadily all morning. Would they stay or would Aaron insist on leaving? If he left, that would seem to confirm the belief that he had unresolved feelings about his mother’s death.

Sarah glanced out the window toward the addition. Aaron was packing up his tools. Even as she watched, he walked away toward the wagon.

She pressed her hand against her heart. No matter how he denied it, Aaron was hurting. She longed to ease that hurt, but she was probably the last person in the world who could do that.

Bless him, dear Father. Please, grant me your guidance, for I don’t know what to do.

“Sarah.”

She turned to find Aunt Emma standing in the doorway. “Ja, I’m here.”

“Alice Straus is our first patient this afternoon.” Aunt Emma’s weathered face crinkled in a smile. “She has done this five times already, so there should be no surprises. You handle the visit, so she gets comfortable with you, ja?”

“I will. Denke.” It was a sign of acceptance, and she valued that.

Alice Straus, however, didn’t seem so sure of that when she found herself alone with Sarah in the small room Emma used for meeting patients. “Is Emma not well, then?” She frowned suspiciously as Sarah approached with the blood pressure cuff.

“My aunt is fine. She just wants all her patients to meet me, since I’ll be working with her.”

“I guess that’s all right, then.” Alice extended her arm, allowing Sarah to wrap the cuff around it. “So long as it’s Emma who is there when the boppli comes.” She smiled suddenly. “Not that I don’t think William and I could do it on our own after all this time.”

“I’m sure you could.” Sarah watched the pressure—in the slightly higher range of normal, but probably not at a worrisome rate. “How have you been feeling? Any tiredness?”

Alice patted her belly. “Who wouldn’t be tired, lugging all of this around? I keep telling William this one is going to come out big enough to shovel snow.”

“How big were your other babies?” She helped Alice lie back on the narrow bed.

“Eight pounds. Little Jacob was almost nine.” Alice frowned again as Sarah approached with the tape measure. “Emma doesn’t do that every time.”

“I just like to see how the measurements are increasing. That helps us know how your boppli is growing.” She’d told herself she wouldn’t second-guess Emma’s methods, but taking the abdominal measurement at each visit was standard at her previous practice. “Ser gut.” She jotted down notes.

Unfortunately the notebook reminded her of Aunt Emma’s angry suggestion that she look at the older woman’s notes on Aaron’s mother.

She hadn’t done it. She wasn’t sure that her relationship with Aunt Emma would survive that.

You could look at the book when Aunt Emma is out,
a little voice whispered in the back of her mind.
She wouldn’t ever have to know.

No. She couldn’t. Sarah kept a smile on her face as she completed Alice’s examination, but her thoughts were in turmoil. She had to know the truth, but not that way.

Somehow, she had to get either Aunt Emma or Aaron to talk about his mother’s death. Right now, that seemed impossible on both sides.

“Everything looks wonderful gut,” she said, helping the woman sit up. “It won’t be long now until that boppli is in your arms.”

“Gut, gut.” Alice patted her kapp to be sure it was in place. “You have a nice way about you,” she said, perhaps a little reluctantly. “I’m glad Emma has someone to help her.”

“I am happy to be here.” Sarah’s fresh start might not be turning out exactly as anticipated, but the words were true. “Now, about the tests on the newborn—”

She didn’t have a chance to finish. Alice drew back, face setting. “No need for that. There’s none of the diseases in my family, nor William’s.”

Given the prevalence of genetic diseases among the Amish, Sarah was relieved to hear that, but it didn’t mean Alice’s baby shouldn’t be tested. The possibility was still there.

“I think . . .”

“Ach, Alice, how are you doing?” Aunt Emma bustled in. “Is my niece taking gut care of you?”

“All right.” Alice sounded a bit grudging. “She wants me to have the boppli tested, but I was telling her there’s no need, ain’t so?”

“Probably not . . .” Emma began, and then checked herself.
Don’t disagree in front of the patient,
her expression said. “Time enough to talk about that later. Now, you let William and the girls help you a bit, ja? You’ll be busy enough once this little one arrives. Get a bit of rest before that.”

They both escorted Alice to the door, but under the casual conversation ran a thread of worry on Sarah’s part. Genetic testing might seem newfangled and unnecessary to women who’d had several healthy babies, but genetic diseases were a constant concern in Amish communities, with their common pool of ancestors.

Sarah didn’t want to wrangle with Aunt Emma on the topic, but testing was too important to compromise. This point she’d have to press.

Aunt Emma stood at the door for a moment, watching as Alice got into the waiting buggy. Then she turned to Sarah.

“I know my patients,” she said, as if Sarah had challenged that.

“I’m sure you do, better than I ever could.” That cost a pang of regret. “It’s encouraging that there’s no history of genetic illnesses in Alice’s family.”

“So why bother with the testing? I know William, and he’ll say he can’t afford needless expenses.”

“Would he say that about buying a new cow for his dairy herd?” Somehow she doubted that. Seeing the stubborn look on her aunt’s face, she touched Emma’s arm lightly. “I understand your feelings, and of course you know the families best.”

Aunt Emma nodded, looking mollified.

“Still, there’s always a chance,” Sarah went on. “We both know that. When the parents know immediately, they can start the proper care right away. If every newborn is tested as a matter of course, then no one will argue about it, ain’t so?”

The stubbornness eased out of Emma’s face. “It’s true enough that it can be hard to talk about testing to those who need it.”