Butterfly Garden

by Annette Blair

  Sara was here. His children were here. Half of him wanted to rant, the other half wanted to exult. Now he’d gone and proved everybody right. This was it. Adam Zuckerman had gone stark, staring mad.

  A good twenty minutes after Adam sent Lizzie to fetch Sara, the pushy woman came charging into his room ... yes she definitely charged.

  But if a body could ignore her narrow-eyed scowl, then the way she looked in that fresh purple dress, cinnamon curls escaping her white kapp, and those wide green eyes in a face that was one of God’s finer creations, a body might wonder why she had never married.

  “Well,” said she, hands on hips, “What do you want now, clumsy?”

  “It’s because of that smart mouth you’re a spinster.”

  Sara stepped so close so fast, and with such determination, Adam would have backed away if he could move.

  “Listen,” she said poking him in the chest, “I did not want to come and tend your ornery self, but nobody else would, so here I am. Now what do you want?”

  “Go away then. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”

  “I should go, just to prove you wrong, but since I wouldn’t abandon a wounded rodent, you’re stuck with me.”

  Was she calling him a rat?

  Despite the affront, Adam had a problem. He had sent for her a quarter hour before to give her a piece of his mind, but his needs had changed, and they were desperate. “I need that jug over there.”

  “Adam Zuckerman, you’re not to be calling me in here every two minutes. And no more whiskey!”

  “Damn it, Sara, that’s my pissin’ jug. Now, give it to me or change the bed.” He had to hand it to her; she hardly blushed as she went for the jug and handed it over, none too gently. But for some reason, she just stood there after that.

  “Well,” he said, after a minute. “Long as you’re gonna stay, either hold the jug or aim. It’s hard to do both one-handed.”

  She quit the room so fast, Adam experienced, for the second time in his life, a need to laugh that was so sharp, it made him want to weep. He swore instead.

  * * * * *

  Wishing he had a drink to blank his mind, and stewing over his damnable situation, kept Adam awake half the night. But despite that, he woke with a feeling the world was in order, which made him wonder if an infection had set in.

  Fortunately for him, Sara had left his jug near the bed, so there was no need to shout.

  A few minutes later, as he was about to give in and call for breakfast, he heard Roman Byler in the kitchen. Then Roman was at the door to his room. “There’s an Amish couple from a settlement in Indiana over at Sussman’s. The wife’s in labor,” Roman said. “And Doc Marks isn’t back from Akron. Woman’s already lost a babe in childbed and she’s scared to lose another. I’m taking Sara over there, Adam, and don’t you be arguing.”

  “Damn it, Roman, it’s dawn and freezing. She can’t take the baby out—”

  “Here we go,” Sara said, carrying Hannah into the room, followed by Lizzie, Katie and Pris. The three oldest climbed up on his bed with him, making him see purple and blue lights for the pain in his limbs.

  Whining all the while, Pris settled on the far corner, her back to him, her arms folded. Then Sara tucked the baby into the crook of his good arm. “Get used to it, Datt,” she said as she patted his aching head.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

  “Getting you settled, so I can go deliver that baby.”

  “You can’t mean to leave me here? With them?”

  “Why? They won’t hurt you.”

  Adam cringed. Didn’t she understand? No, of course, she didn’t. How could he tell somebody as strong and perfect as Scrapper Sara how defective he was?

  Maybe she was the wrong one to care for the girls, after all. If she was going to be so careless with them, they’d be better off with ... him? The thought made him feel less helpless and more furious. “I forbid you to go!”

  Sara stiffened at the same time Roman’s bark of laughter filled the room. “Now you’ve done it,” Roman said, making Adam want to erase his former friend’s smirk with a forbidden fist.

  Sara pierced Adam with her look. “Get up and stop me, why don’t you?”

  Trying not to laugh, Roman cleared his throat. “Before she agreed to go, Sara made me promise I would come back to help you.”

  Sara shot Roman a look that said, ‘shut your mouth,’ which, under any other circumstance, would make Adam want to gloat.

  “Ask Lizzie if you need anything while I’m gone,” Sara said, scowling at him, but her face softened as she bent to kiss Lizzie’s head, the smile she gave his oldest bright enough to rival the sun.

  “She’s a big help, is Lizzie.” When Sara turned back to him, her smile vanished. “I’ve let you put me off long enough. I’ve been weak, but no more. Christmas is nearly here. You may as well practice.”

  “Adam Zuckerman,” Roman said with a grin. “Your eyes look—”

  “Mad,” Sara said as she passed Roman to leave the room.

  Roman chuckled. “Alive, I was going to say. They look alive.” Then he too was gone.

  “You’re an old busybody, you know that, Roman Byler?” Adam shouted after him.

  “Ya, a busybody,” Roman countered from the kitchen. “But younger than you.”

  And before Adam could think of a response, the kitchen door slammed, then Roman’s carriage passed his window.

  Being alone with his children like this hurt worse than the pain in his limbs, though that was pretty bad too, cause Katie had taken to bouncing on her knees beside his broken leg.

  One thing the girls had in common right now, even Pris who’d turned to give him a scowl; they were staring at him as if he might want to have them for breakfast.

  So if he wanted them to fear him, why did he feel as if he was letting them down?

  Baby Hannah, who’d grown to be a wiggling handful in the past two months, took to demanding her breakfast in tones that Sara might be able to hear from the Sussman house. And when Adam looked to Lizzie for help, he saw something he had never noticed. She was a person — a little one, but with a knowledge beyond her years in those wide doe’s eyes of hers.

  He nodded at her, because for the life of him, he couldn’t speak beyond the lump in his throat. And Lizzie nodded back, just before she took the bottle that had slipped between him and the baby and plugged it into that noisy little mouth, cutting the sound mid-wail.

  “Thank you,” Adam said, but the words were such a croak, he had to nod again to make her understand. And her smile was so easy and so wide, that lump in his throat got bigger.

  “My’s hungry, Datt,” Katie said, and Lizzie, bless her, performed another miracle. She pulled a fassnacht from a cloth sack he’d just now noticed and gave it to Katie. “Doc Jordan calls these ‘dough nuts,’” Lizzie told him on a giggle. Then she handed one to Pris, who pulled her blanket close and turned her back on him to eat.

  As if the jolting statement that Sara had had the English doctor at her house hadn’t been made, his girls started eating their foolish breakfast, spreading crumbs over him and the bed, watching him all the while.

  When Katie held her fassnacht to his mouth, Adam stopped frowning. To say he was surprised was a mild account. He looked at Lizzie to see what he should do, and it was her turn to nod, so he took a bite. But all that did was make that lump downright impossible to swallow.

  For the life of him, Adam didn’t understand why he wanted both to throttle Spinster Sara Lapp and embrace her at one and the same time.

  The sound of Baby Hannah draining the bubbles from an empty lambing bottle brought him back to his impossible situation and he stared at the babe as if there might be an answer in that tiny flailing fist.

  Lizzie touched his arm, breaking the taut rope of unease holding him motionless. “Better burp her or she’s gonna be mighty cranky.”

  “If I knew how to do that,” Adam snapped, “I’d be your mot
her, not your—”

  Lizzie’s eyes filled and Adam clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t know if it was his fury or his mention of her mother, but Adam felt as if ... as if he’d crushed her fingers in a door. Yes, that’s exactly how she looked — betrayed — and in more pain than she could bear.

  That he didn’t know how to soothe her was a hard pill for Adam to swallow, harder even than having her here. “Lizziebelle, I’m ... sorry. I ... I don’t know how to burp her,” Adam said, ashamed for so many reasons, not the least of which was the absurd excuse he offered.

  “My do it,” Katie said. And darned if Lizzie didn’t take the baby right out of his arms, give her to Katie and help the giggling child perform the task. And that tiny mite of a baby girl burped louder than he did when he’d guzzled enough whiskey to fell an ox.

  For a minute, Adam feared the baby might return the contents of her stomach, but God, who’d been handing out some nasty punishments of late, decided Hannah would just settle down to sleep. And Lizzie returned the baby to his care.

  “Why’d you give us to Sara, Datt?” Lizzie asked. “Is it ‘cause you didn’t know how to do burpin? ‘Cause Sara can teach you, then we can stay.”

  Adam looked toward the ceiling and frowned. Ah, you did have worse in mind. He turned to Lizzie. “Wouldn’t you miss Sara?”

  “Sara could stay too,” Lizzie said, which got the other two to jumping, Katie with glee, and Pris with her pouting face directed at the bed, not at him. Which woke baby Hannah, and made Adam’s stomach feel like his fassnacht was dancing its way back up his throat, when it had only just got past it.

  When it seemed they’d settled down and Pris might fall asleep, baby Hannah got to making some grunting sounds, filling the room with a smell that brought a curse to Adam’s lips at about the same time it brought a giggle to Lizzie’s.

  Three trips to the kitchen by Lizzie and Katie — Pris gagged the whole time — and a load of towels later, and Hannah was sweet-smelling and sleeping again. And Adam was certain, when Sara returned, he was going to jump right off the bed — broken bones and all — and strangle her.

  * * * * *

  Mercy Bachman was forty if she was a day, and she hadn’t lost one baby, she had lost nine over thirteen years.

  Abby all over again, she was all bones and angles, with so much heart and hope — and fear — Sara had to bite her lip and plant her feet just to keep herself from running away.

  She’d not been this frightened during her brother’s birth. She hadn’t been smart enough yet to know how fierce an adversary death could be.

  Mercy’s work-worn husband, Enos, sat in a rocker in the kitchen staring into the face of the Sussman baby in his arms as if willing it to be his.

  Roman waited outside, likely afraid he would miss something.

  May Sussman boiled water while her husband, Cal, chopped wood; she said he could average a cord or more during a good labor.

  Sara smiled but her heart pounded. Mercy’s labor was proceeding slowly. Too slowly.

  Sara helped the ungainly woman don her robe and took her into the best room to pace. There Mercy told Sara the story of each and every lost child, until a pattern emerged. Stalled, overlong labors, exhausted mother and baby. After as long as three days of labor, each child had been born whole but weak, which none overcame beyond the first few minutes or hours.

  Sara encouraged Mercy to walk faster and sent May’s husband to Jordan’s house to wait for him. She told Cal he could chop wood there, if it would help, but he must wait and bring the doctor back. She set Roman to escorting Mercy around May’s best room while she prepared a tea of Gossypium root bark to induce stronger contractions. She remembered Jordan saying it was good for labors that started and stopped. She added wild ginger to the tea to increase Mercy’s energy and through her, hopefully, her child’s.

  For the first half-hour, Mercy sipped tea as she walked, then her labor took off and Sara feared she had used too much root bark. When Mercy was ensconced in bed, her husband started to whine and panic, which distracted Mercy, made her tense, and slowed her labor. Sara ordered Enos outside and May Sussman to keep him there.

  Sara gave Mercy more tea and ordered her up again for a sponge bath and a change of gown. Before the bath was finished, Mercy was doubled over in pain, but Sara made her walk some more.

  Mercy begged to lay down but when Sara explained that if her labor progressed quickly, the baby would still have strength left after it was born, Mercy picked up her pace.

  “For heaven’s sakes, Mercy, I didn’t say to run.”

  Mercy stopped in surprise and they laughed together.

  Sara invited Roman to entertain them with his stories, and though he faltered with every one of Mercy’s gasps, he talked about everybody in the district, including Midwife Sara and her care of Mad Adam Zuckerman and his children.

  A half-hour later, when Mercy wanted to push, Sara let her lay down. And when Sara caught the rhythm of labor, she knew it was nearly over. She put her hand on Mercy’s belly to feel the child, and a great yearning for a miracle like this of her own welled up in her. Knowing it was impossible, Sara pushed yearning aside to concentrate on her patient.

  Between pains, while Sara prayed for guidance and Mercy lessened her grip on the sides of the bed, Sara saw Roman peek in from the far reaches of the kitchen, and realized that he had never gone back to help Adam. She pushed frustration aside. Adam needed this time with his children, and Mercy needed her full attention.

  Finally, Sara saw the baby’s creamy scalp and touched the lively pulse there. She nodded with relief and smiled. “Your baby seems strong, Mercy. Let’s bring it into the world, shall we? Push. Now.”

  Mercy’s scream made Roman bolt, Sara saw out of the corner of her eye. Then the baby’s face emerged, and as Sara made to ease the child’s way, the mite slipped into her hand, sleek, bloody, beautiful, and swinging her arms.

  Sara knew two things in that moment, with undeniable certainty. She had never been so frightened in all her life and she had been born to be a midwife.

  She had no more than cleared the mite’s mouth and turned her to slap her bottom than the baby girl was crying for all she was worth ... Mercy too. Sara too. She grinned at Mercy. “Lungs like these are gonna’ make a lot of noise for a long time, Mercy. Here, hold your daughter while I cut the cord.”

  While Sara cut and tied the cord, she became aware of her surroundings. May, in the bedroom door, Roman, a few paces behind. Mercy’s joy as she gazed at her child, her husband Enos pounding on the outside door.

  “Let the new papa in as far as the kitchen, May.” Sara took the baby, wiped her tiny face and wrapped her in a blanket. “Let Datt hold his new daughter in that rocker near the stove, until we have a chance to wash her proper. Mercy is going to be busy while we deliver the afterbirth.”

  When all was said and done, after more tears and hugs, Mercy said Sara had their gratitude for life. But Sara was the grateful one. Little Saramay was her first delivery without Jordan and she would always be grateful that Mercy had given her the chance.

  Saying goodbye, finally, made Sara think of losing Abby. In one afternoon, Mercy had become a special friend, but they would never see each other again.

  In the end, Mercy promised to keep in touch.

  It had taken less than three hours.

  Sara returned to the Zuckerman house, still shaking inside, despite her elation, to find a collection of soiled towels frozen in a heap by the back door.

  In the bed where she’d left them, Adam was sitting up, head thrown back, snoring fit to wake the dead, baby Hannah asleep in his arms. Katie was curled against him, and behind her, Lizzie and then Pris, like spoons in a kitchen drawer.

  As Sara began to back from the room, Adam raised his head and looked straight at her. And Sara didn’t think she could have imagined the bite of his silent fury.

  Foolish her. She had imagined that an afternoon with his children would soften him. But it didn’t take her l
ong to realize that now Mad Adam Zuckerman would be harder, madder, and more disagreeable than ever.

  Chapter 4

  Tomorrow for the first time in a dozen years, Sara would not be alone for Christmas. She would be with the children she loved and the man she wanted to beat black and blue ... except that Adam was twice her size and most of him was already that color.

  The children had been asleep for an hour when Sara set Christmas treats in their plates for morning. Along with some sweetmeats, nuts and an orange, the three oldest would each get a faceless Amish rag doll. Sara had discovered them at the bottom of Abby’s sewing basket, a slip of paper pinned to each naming the child for whom the doll was intended, almost as if she knew….

  Sara had denied the possibility and cut out three small quilts and pillows to go with the dolls. Stitching them became particularly relaxing on those evenings when the mystery of how to make Adam love his girls kept her awake.

  Mad Adam Zuckerman. Brooding. Angry. Puzzling. Perhaps he didn’t like children. Perhaps he’d never wanted any. Perhaps ... he already loved them.

  Sara frowned. Perhaps she was as mad as him.

  She’d been in his house five long, frustrating days. Days of arguments, silences, growls and curses — though never within hearing of his girls, she noticed. Days when she and Adam dare not look at each other for some unseen force crackling between them, a kind of two-sided ... aversion, more hot than cold. Invisible lightning was the only way she could think to describe it, and heaven help either of them if it actually struck.

  Long days with long evenings, during which Adam’s glances — of warning or anxiety — seemed almost a plea, but for what? Evenings like this.

  Sara filled a pitcher with hot water and gathered soap and a razor, and mentally braced herself for the battle she intended to win. She raised her chin to display the kind of mock-bravery she always needed around men — except for Jordan, who did not count among the males who knocked her knees and tied her tongue.