Sarah's Gift (8 page)

It was a relief to say the words out loud. And incredible, that he was saying them to Sarah.

She touched his hand, just for an instant, and then drew away. “I think you are worrying needlessly, Aaron. You are the one who has been a father to Benjamin. If he turns out to be like anyone, he will be like you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
arah
stayed in the background while Aunt Emma gave Dora Schmidt her checkup on Tuesday. Sarah smiled, nodded, and listened to the lively chatter that went on between the two women who had gone through one of life’s most intimate experiences together seven times already. Naturally Dora wanted Emma to deliver this baby, too.

With five women now in their final month and coming every week, this was shaping up to be a busy day. It was not, however, busy in the addition. Aaron and his brothers had put in a full day yesterday but once again had failed to come on a patient day.

After what had happened on Sunday, Sarah felt that her relationship with Aaron had passed a hurdle and moved into friendship. She’d thought perhaps that would reduce his reluctance to come today, but she’d been wrong.

Certainly she understood him better now that she knew a bit more about what drove him. Her heart had been wrung by his fears for his little brother.

Groundless fears, she hoped. She’d meant what she told Aaron—that if Benjamin would be like anyone, he would be like Aaron. Benjamin could become just such a solid, steady, dependable person.

Maybe those thoughts said more about her opinion of Aaron than her opinion of Benjamin. If so, she’d be better off not to be thinking about him at all.

Aunt Emma reached for the tape measure, and Sarah handed it to her.

“Ach, you don’t need to measure me to let me know that I’m as big as a house,” Dora said. “I think it’s time this little one joined the rest of us.”

“There’s a full moon the end of the week,” Aunt Emma said, stretching the tape measure. “You know how that brings on labor. He might be in your arms soon enough, ain’t so, Sarah?”

“Could be. Some might say that is nothing but an old wives’ tale, but we midwives know better.”

“Maybe because we are old wives,” Aunt Emma quipped, making Dora laugh.

Thank goodness Aunt Emma had regained her usual good spirits. That episode on Sunday, when she’d withdrawn while they’d been talking about the telephone—that had been so out of character. At the time, the crisis with Benjamin and Louise had wiped the incident from Sarah’s mind, but later the worry had come back.

She’d promised Jonas that she’d try to get Aunt Emma to see a doctor if she thought there was any need. Maybe that time had come. But how she’d bring that up, she didn’t know.

Dora Schmidt’s visit was nearly over. Sarah ran her gaze down the records in Dora’s folder, noting that her blood pressure had sometimes been rather high. She glanced at Aunt Emma, chatting with Dora about the likelihood that the full moon would bring on her labor as she helped her up. Wasn’t she going to check Dora’s blood pressure?

It seemed not. For a moment Sarah hesitated, unwilling to interfere. But the patient came first. They both knew that. She picked up the blood pressure cuff.

“Let’s just check your pressure before you leave,” she said.

Aunt Emma’s face tightened. Then she nodded. “Ja. Just to be on the safe side.” She took the cuff from Sarah’s hands and wrapped it around Dora’s arm herself.

Then she surveyed Dora with a frown. “You’ve been eating salty food again, ain’t so?”

Dora’s ruddy cheeks deepened in color. “I’ve had a craving for fried potatoes lately, it seems. You know how much I love them.”

“I know, but I know also they’re not so gut for you, especially with the baby this near term. Now you promise me you’ll stay away from the salt shaker, ja?”

Dora nodded. “Ja. I will. But sometimes I get heartburn, and I think something salty makes me feel better.”

“You try having a nice cup of ginger root tea for the heartburn,” Emma said. “Now you do as we tell you.”

Sarah let out a slow breath. Aunt Emma had said
we
. Maybe that meant she wasn’t taking offense at Sarah’s interference.

But once the door had closed behind Dora, she turned on Sarah, her face tight.

“I have been catching babies since before you were born, Sarah. Do not correct me in front of a patient.”

“Not correcting,” Sarah said quickly. “I’m sure Dora didn’t think that. Just reminding you.”

Emma didn’t look mollified. “I don’t want Dora going around telling folks I’m getting too old for my job. If I didn’t take Dora’s blood pressure, there’d be no harm done. I would tell her anyway to watch her diet. I know better than you what her problems are.”

“I’m sure you do.” Sarah was cringing inside at pressing this issue with Aunt Emma, but it had to be done. “But we both know that checking her blood pressure was the right thing to do.” She reached out to her aunt, silent pleading in the gesture. “You are the one who taught me that the patient always comes first. Remember?”

Her aunt’s expression didn’t soften. “That’s as may be, but—”

A tapping on the door interrupted her. Maybe that was for the best.

Sarah went to answer. It was Benjamin, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, snowflakes sticking to his blond hair. He stepped inside at her gesture, grinning.

“Sarah, there are snow flurries in the air.” It seemed Benjamin wasn’t so far from being a small boy, excited at the idea of snow.

“Ja, I see. But I think you didn’t come over just to tell me that.”

“Ach, no, I am here with a message from Aaron.” His grin widened, if that was possible. “Our Molly is arriving this afternoon. Aaron says we might be a little late in the morning, because she’s sure to want to make a big breakfast for us, but we will be here.”

“That’s gut news. You must be excited to have her here at last.”

He nodded. “You must come to see her sometime soon. She’ll want to get to know you again.”

“And I feel the same. How is Louise? None the worse for her dunking?”

He sobered a little. “She is fine. Her daad gave her such a scolding—she won’t soon forget what he said.”

“She scared him, just as she scared us.” She could imagine how Louise’s father felt. At least he didn’t seem to blame Benjamin.

“Ja.” He ducked his head, looking both embarrassed and determined. “Sarah, I chust wanted to say . . .” The words seemed to peter out.

“You don’t need to say anything.” Sarah touched his arm lightly. “I am thankful I was there to help.”

“Not only that.” His blue eyes were suspiciously bright. “I know you must have talked to my brother. Denke, Sarah. Denke.”

“It’s all right.” Did she dare say anything more? “Your brother loves you very much, I know. Maybe sometimes he speaks before he thinks.”

He squeezed her hand. “You are a gut friend, Sarah. Denke.” He turned and hurried away.

Sarah closed the door slowly, her heart insensibly lifted by Benjamin’s words. Maybe she needed to know that someone thought well of her.

Aaron
had nearly forgotten what a joy it was to have all four of them sitting around the kitchen table. Their family felt complete again—their faces relaxed and happy in the glow of the gaslight.

Benjamin had been telling Molly the story of Louise’s fall through the ice. He told it lightly enough, but he knew Molly saw through that to the fear beneath. She clasped his hand warmly on the tabletop.

Odd, how he and Nathan and Benjamin got on so much better together when Molly was there with them. She seemed to smooth off the rough places where they bumped against each other.

He’d noticed that Sarah did the same, easing tension by her very presence. He frowned down at his coffee cup, trying to sort out the complications Sarah had brought to his life. It would be simpler if he could just decide to distrust her, but he couldn’t.

He hadn’t been able to get his mind off what she’d said to him on Sunday. Her comment that Benjamin would grow up to be like him kept echoing in his mind, as if Sarah’s soft voice spoke in his ear. If Sarah’s words were true, he wouldn’t have to worry so much about Benjamin’s future, would he?

Or did that mean that Benjamin would become a man who would expect the worst of someone he loved? The thought shocked him so that his hand clenched the cup.

He didn’t think that about Benj. It was ridiculous. Just because he’d jumped to the conclusion that his little brother was at fault in Louise’s accident—

He backed away from that memory, confused, unsure of himself for the first time in a long while. That was Sarah’s doing, making him question himself this way.

He wouldn’t think about her. He’d just enjoy Molly’s first night at home.

“I didn’t know you could cook so well, Nathan.” Molly pushed her empty plate back. “Seems like you won’t need me to do any cooking while I’m here, ain’t so?”

Nathan grinned, knowing she was teasing. “If you want to have steak-and-onion pie every night.”

“That’s the only thing he cooks,” Benjamin said. “You should have seen what happened when he tried to make chicken potpie like you do.” He rolled his eyes. “Even the dog wouldn’t eat it.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Nathan protested. “Was it, Aaron?”

“Not if you like noodles the consistency of rubber bands.” Some of Nathan’s ventures into cooking were downright terrible, but if Aaron and Benjamin complained too much, he might stop entirely. Aaron had learned his way around the kitchen at an early age, but he’d far rather be washing up the dishes than cooking.

“Ach, you’re kidding,” Molly said, dimples appearing in her round cheeks. “I taught Nathan better than that, didn’t I?”

Benjamin shook his head. “If not for the neighbors taking pity on us now and then, you’d find us looking like scarecrows.”

“You’d best be careful, or Nathan will make you take over,” Aaron warned.

“Speaking of neighbors, I hear you have a new neighbor that you’ve been getting friendly with.” Molly looked at him as she spoke, laughter in her blue eyes.

“Who told you that?” The words came out sharper than they should have.

“Anna Fisher writes to me now and then,” Molly said. “She told me all about Emma’s niece coming to live with her. I remember Sarah fine from when she was here a few years ago. It is nice for you to have a pretty new neighbor, ain’t so?”

“Sarah is pretty,” Benjamin said, with the air of one making a new discovery. “She’s kind of quiet, so you don’t notice it at first.”

“Not like you, jabbering away to everyone you meet.” Nathan jogged Molly’s elbow.

Molly ignored him. “So Anna says she’s a midwife, like her aunt, come to help out Emma.”

Nathan nodded. “I guess Emma is glad of some help. We’ve seen quite a bit of Sarah, since we’ve been doing some work over there.”

“Really?” Molly acted surprised, but Aaron had a feeling she’d already known that perfectly well from Anna or one of her other friends. “What are you doing?”

“Adding on two rooms,” Aaron said shortly, having no wish to discuss what the rooms were for.

“That’s so women who want to have their babies at Emma’s can,” Benjamin said. “Sarah calls them birthing rooms.”

Molly nudged her little brother. “Next you’ll be telling me that you know all about such things.”

Benjamin flushed. “Well, that’s what Sarah says, anyway.”

“That sounds like a fine job for the three of you to catch this time of the year.” Molly patted Benjamin’s arm, but her gaze was on Aaron, and there was a question in it.

She knew him better than anyone, and right now she was wondering why he’d go anywhere near a job like this one. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t, not without telling her too much.

“So you think well of our new neighbor, then,” Molly prompted, looking at him.

“She seems like a nice enough woman.” But behind the neutral words he was seeing the caring in Sarah’s eyes and remembering the healing in her touch.

“Such a careful answer.” Molly grinned. “Ach, well, I’ll see for myself, won’t I?”

“What do you mean?” He couldn’t help the sharpness of his tone.

Molly patted her belly. “This little one will be coming along in six weeks or so, and I am in need of a midwife.”

“No.” Aaron’s chair scraped as he shoved it back, hardly aware of having risen. “No, you won’t go to any midwife.”

Three faces stared at him, showing varying degrees of shock.

“But, Aaron . . .” Nathan began, and stopped when Molly put her hand on his arm. They seemed to speak to each other without words.

Then Nathan was rising. “Komm, Benjamin. Let’s go see that the horses are settled for the night.”

“But we don’t need—”

Nathan didn’t let him finish. He took him by the elbow and propelled him out of the kitchen. In a moment the back door had slammed behind them.

“Aaron?” There was a question in Molly’s voice, and she made her way around the table to him. “What is going on with you?”

“Nothing. I just think you should go to a doctor, that’s all. I’ll get a driver to take you. . . .”

He let the words fade away, because she was shaking her head.

“I hoped . . . I prayed you were over all those feelings. When I heard about you doing the job for Sarah, I thought maybe you’d found peace about Mammi.”

He pressed his hands hard against the top of the table. Pain had a stranglehold on his throat, but he had to speak.

“Mammi died because of the midwife. If she’d gone to the hospital, she’d be alive today.”

“You don’t know that.” Molly touched his hand gently. “What is the sense of thinking that way? What happened is God’s will. We must accept and move on.”

He had to unclench his jaw before he could answer. “I have accepted God’s will. But that doesn’t mean I want my only sister to put her life in the hands of a midwife.” He closed his eyes for a second at the memory. Distant as it was, right now it seemed very close. “Please, Molly. Don’t make me worry about you. See a doctor.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll think about it, all right? But you need to remember something, Aaron. This is my baby. Mine and Jacob’s.” She moved her palm in a gentle circle on her apron, and for an instant her face seemed transfigured with love. “It’s hard with Jacob so far away now, but we have to decide what’s best for the boppli. Not you.”

Sarah
and Leah arrived at the clinic on Wednesday in a car driven by Ben Morgan, an elderly Englischer who seemed to enjoy earning a bit of money ferrying the Amish to places they couldn’t easily reach by horse and buggy.