“Every weekday and two Saturdays a month. But when she works on a Saturday, Trevor gives her Monday off.” Charity wriggled an eyebrow as she buttered four pieces of bread, then slid them onto a pan to place in the oven with the stew.
“Why the look?”
“You know why.”
“Tell me Reba isn’t sweet on Trevor.”
Charity sat down at the table and began flipping through Annie’s latest book from the library.
“You know you’re not interested in reading that. Now talk to me.”
“I’m not sure about Reba. I thought maybe she talked to you yesterday.” Charity pushed her kapp strings back behind her shoulders.
“Nein. She did speak with Samuel about some ointment for a horse.”
“Our little schweschder is hard to figure sometimes. The moment you think she has eyes for nothing except the four-legged kind, you’ll find a note in her dress pocket.”
“You’re kidding!”
Charity smiled, pulled a folded note from her apron, and slid it across the table. “Not that I’ve read it.”
Annie sat down and stared at the folded note with Reba’s name on top. “I’m impressed. You showed real restraint. How do you know it’s from Trevor?”
“If you hold it up to the light, you can see his signature.”
Annie shook her head and pushed the note back across the table. “And what are you going to do with it?”
“Place it on top of her folded clothes. Maybe if she knows I saw it, she’ll spill.” Charity laughed.
“This could be a serious matter. Trevor’s Englisch. What did mamm say?”
“She said Gotte has his eye on Reba and not to worry about her.”
“Sounds like mamm.” Annie jumped up when she heard the water on the stove begin to boil. “Tea?”
“Ya.”
“So what about you and David? I thought you might bring up the subject yesterday.”
They spent the next twenty minutes talking about David. He was still living with his parents, still working their farm and working a part-time job in town. He and Charity were regularly attending the singings together, and it seemed to her he might be getting serious. He’d kissed her twice.
They hadn’t talked about marrying yet.
They had talked about the price of farms, which was high. And twice he’d shown her ads in The Budget, ads for dairy farms in Wisconsin. Charity confessed the thought of moving made her stomach hurt and excited her at the same time.
After they shared lunch with Samuel, she walked Charity out to her buggy.
“Any word on Mattie and Jesse?”
“The bypass surgery was a success, and members of their family have taken turns sitting with him so Mattie could come home in the evening.”
“Gut. So he’ll recover fully?”
“The doctors say he should—if he’ll follow their directions.”
“Exercise, eat healthy, and watch your cholesterol.” Charity reached out and hugged Annie. “Don’t look so surprised. You’ve lectured us all.”
“Sure you won’t stay and quilt with me?”
“Nein. I have my own projects at home. Mamm went to Leah’s to help with the laundry first thing this morning. I want to get home and hear how she’s doing.”
“She seemed better by the time they left yesterday.” Annie hugged her again, then stood back as Charity picked up her mare’s reins.
She was pleased her mother had gone to Leah and Adam’s this morning. Pleased they lived close enough to help one another. Although Leah and Adam were having a tough spell perhaps it would make them stronger in the end.
Each family was different, and she would need to trust that Leah and Adam would find their way. But perhaps a word here or there would help. Maybe she could speak with Adam and nudge things along. After all, who knew her brother better than she did?
In the meantime, she would work on the quilt.
She had the rest of the afternoon to piece together her sample square. She’d neglected to do that once, on a quilt she was making for auction. She’d been making an Amish basket quilt and thought she was experienced enough to bypass the step.
Walking up to her sewing room, she thought back on how she had certainly learned her lesson that year. The basket quilt had been a disaster. It had taken all of her mother’s skill to help her fix it, and in the end, she’d needed to repurchase part of the fabric. All because she hadn’t made a sample square.
A costly mistake but one she’d never repeated. Every quilt she’d done since, she had taken the time to complete this step. Which was where she’d begin this afternoon. Surprisingly, she wasn’t the least bit sleepy—perhaps the napping phase of her pregnancy had passed. Glancing out the window, she could see their sheets snapping in the light wind. Samuel was walking toward the house, and more clouds were rolling in. Maybe they’d have snow again by evening, and this time it might be more than a mere dusting.
Fine with her. She had finished the laundry and had the entire afternoon to work on Leah’s quilt. While she sewed, she’d pray for the babies and for Leah and Adam. She’d complete the sample square, then once that was done, the rest of the quilt should be easy work.
Perhaps God would present an opportunity for her to speak with her brother. If she didn’t hear from Adam or Leah before Wednesday, she’d take them a meal when Samuel went to town. He wanted to see to some repairs around Rachel’s place and it would give her a chance to spend time with Leah.
Provided they didn’t have any other medical emergencies.
8
Monday evening—or was it in the wee hours of Tuesday morning?—Leah woke to a room so dark she couldn’t see the opposite wall. She lay there for a few minutes and tried to convince herself she wasn’t completely awake, but it was no use pretending. When her thoughts turned to how Rebekah had helped her with the wash, how nice it had been not to spend the day alone, she knew she was wide awake.
She tried to turn over on her side, but the giant beach ball that had become her stomach wouldn’t allow her to. She lay in the darkness, determined to go back to sleep, but her mind refused to quiet. Instead, she listened to every sound—the branches of the eastern white pine tree against their room, the sound of the wind outside the window, even a night bird calling out to its mate.
Was it still snowing?
How much had accumulated?
What time was it anyway?
If she wiggled and worked at it, she might be able to roll over and see the clock on her nightstand. Adam had bought her the small ivory-colored, battery-operated clock for her birthday. He’d laughed, but he’d bought it. She’d pointed it out to him at the store—a week before she’d turned twenty-two.
“And who needs a clock in the bedroom?” he’d asked. “We’ve never had one before.”
“I know, but it would be nice to know how long the babies have slept or if I should check on them.”
“The babies will be waking you when it’s time to feed them again. You won’t need a clock for that.”
But he’d gone back to the store while she was visiting at the cafe with Rebekah, and later he’d wrapped up the very one she’d shown him. He’d even put a bow on the package and set it on the kitchen table so that it was the first thing she’d seen the morning of her birthday. When she thought of that morning, it seemed like she was remembering something in one of the books Annie liked to read or something that happened to someone else.
Too bad she couldn’t crane her neck around and see the clock. Maybe she could sit up without waking Adam. She’d never get back to sleep now anyway. The pressure in her back felt like the time she’d scrubbed all the floors in a single day. It almost felt as if someone had their hands on her back and was pushing.
Leah pushed the covers off her stomach, careful not to disturb Adam, which was when she realized he wasn’t even in bed. Was it not as late as she thought? Or had he moved to the couch again?
She rotated her legs around to the floor and used
her arms to push herself into a sitting position. Reaching for the clock, she tapped the button on top and the light gently glowed, revealing the time—ten minutes after three.
Adam had definitely moved to the couch.
He slept there more than he did in their own bed.
Was it because her tossing kept him awake?
Sleeping with her must be like sleeping in a rocking buggy. She wiggled and turned and couldn’t be still for more than a few moments. Lying in any single position had become too uncomfortable. She’d known pregnancies could be hard, and she’d heard the horror stories about stretch marks and not being able to see one’s feet. Nothing had prepared her for this though. The constant worry, the aches, the not sleeping . . . those were things no one talked about.
And she hadn’t felt her husband’s arms around her in months. Not that his arms would fit around her. Not that he would want to put his arms around her even if he could.
She was whining.
She hadn’t opened her mouth, and Adam was still asleep, but she was whining nonetheless. Watching Annie with Samuel on Sunday had reminded her of how she used to be with Adam—she used to be nicer. Standing, she waited a moment to be sure she was balanced. Wouldn’t do to fall over in her own bedroom. Then she’d be a whining wife and a troublesome one, too.
Waddling to the bathroom, she vowed to stop and change her attitude. Twenty-two was much too young to turn into a whiner, plus she didn’t want to be that kind of wife or mother. Her husband would avoid her, and her children would hide in the barn with their father.
One more thing to worry about.
She shut the door to the bathroom as quietly as possible. Reaching for the small flashlight they kept on the counter near the sink, she flipped it on. It did nothing to alleviate the pain pulsating in her lower back, but at least she could see what she was doing. She took care of her bathroom needs, and glanced into the small mirror while she rinsed her hands at the sink. With her hair down she almost looked like the young woman who had married Adam—the young woman she still felt like sometimes, on the inside.
She combed her fingers through her blonde hair, which reached well past her waist. Adam used to say her hair reminded him of the wheat in the fields—silky, golden, and precious. With a sigh, she pulled her hair behind her shoulders. If she did have a girl, she would brush her hair every night. The thought made her smile; after all, no one carried a baby forever. She was turning to go back into their bedroom when a pain rippled across her stomach. Leah rubbed one hand over the top of her protruding belly and her other hand over the bottom.
“It’s only the false labor,” she murmured, but then another pain claimed her and she sank to the floor. Placing her head against the rug, she focused on breathing in and out and tried to calm her racing heart. She could wake Adam, but probably it was the practice pains, same as two nights ago.
He needed his rest. He worked so hard that he’d fallen asleep reading the paper on Sunday.
Suddenly she needed to go to the bathroom again, needed to go badly, but she didn’t think she could stand. Reaching for the cabinet, she tried to pull herself up and that was when the pressure from the babies increased. That was when she knew this was nothing like two nights ago.
Adam had wakened when Leah turned the small flashlight on in the bathroom. He had wanted to go to her immediately, but it was probably better if he didn’t. These days she seemed to prefer her privacy.
He lay in the sitting room, and stared up at the ceiling. When he’d built the small, snug house, he had never dreamed he’d be spending so many nights sleeping on the couch! He rolled to his side and punched his pillow. If he was uncomfortable, how did Leah feel? How did she even manage to stand or sit?
He didn’t understand how anyone could abide changing their shape so much. His mother had her last baby when he was six, his youngest sister, Reba. He could barely remember, but he’d seen plenty of pregnant women in his life. When Annie had come home from the city, that first winter, he’d driven her to more than one birthing in the middle of the night. Most of the time, he’d been able to hide out in the barn while the women endured their labor, but occasionally he’d had to stay in the house. He would never forget those nights.
But this wasn’t like those nights.
It wasn’t time for his children to be born.
And Leah was nothing like those women. Leah was so large that when they stood together, they were still a foot apart! It would be funny if he didn’t miss her so much.
Flipping over onto his back, he wondered again if he should go and check on her. She’d been in the bathroom for a good five minutes. He’d wait a little while longer and then he’d go and knock. When they’d first married, she’d never shut the door, but now shut doors were standard procedure.
He thought back on what Samuel had said on Saturday. “Leah needs to know you love her.”
Of course, he loved her! Didn’t he work all the time? When he wasn’t tending to their animals or working on the barn, he was preparing the fields and reading up on ways to produce more crops on their small amount of land. Then there was the work on the engines.
Adam tossed over to his side, staring into the darkness at the back of the couch.
The engines were the answer. His land could only produce so much, but people always needed their small engines repaired. If he could build up a good client base, then he’d have steady income all year long. Then his wife and children would have no need to worry.
“Leah needs to know you love her.”
He wanted to go to her. Why was she still in the bathroom? He sat up and stared at the closed door. One more minute. It was all he was waiting.
He’d been short-tempered lately and he felt bad about that. His father was right—it wasn’t respectful. He’d spoken to Leah harshly on the way to the luncheon Sunday and he should apologize. Middle of the night might not be the best time, but then again neither of them were sleeping.
In the old days, before the twins, they’d occasionally wake in the middle of the night and talk. Of course, sometimes they’d do more than talk.
He missed his wife!
Standing up, he walked to the bathroom door and tapped on it lightly.
“Leah, are you all right?”
There was no answer. Maybe she’d fallen asleep in there. He tapped again.
“Leah? Honey? I’m coming in.” Pushing the door open, he poked his head through. The flashlight she’d been using was on the floor. It had fallen out of her hand but was still on, and its beam provided enough light for him to see her. Leah lay huddled on the bathroom floor.
She gave no indication she’d heard him enter the room.
He dropped to the floor beside her, pushed her hair—her beautiful blonde hair—back out of her face. He needed to see her. He needed to speak with her.
“Honey. What is it? Talk to me, Leah.”
“Adam . . .”
His name on her lips caused his heart to leap. What had he thought? That she’d died there while he’d been tossing on the couch?
“Was iss letz?” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.
“The babies, Adam.”
When he stroked her cheek her eyes fluttered open, but then a shriek clawed its way up and out of her throat. She pulled herself back into a ball, as if she were protecting the children in her womb.
For the first time that night, maybe for the first time in his life, Adam felt terror snake down his spine and take root in his heart.
“I’ll move you to the bed.”
“Nein.”
“You can’t stay here . . .”
Again the scream and he couldn’t make out her words if there were any. Her hair cascaded down and she was a ball, a world curled in on herself. The floor was cold, but Adam had begun sweating like his workhorses.
For Leah, the pain must have passed because she began to shiver as she reached for his hand and clutched it.
“I’ll fetch you a quilt.”
“The old one,” she murmured.
Her request pushed the fear back. Surely if she could worry about such a thing there was hope. Surely they would see their way through this night. But he had to go for help. He had to put out the call for Belinda and Samuel and Annie.
He was back with the old quilt she kept in the blanket chest, the one that was tattered. He’d heard her say she was going to cut it up for a rag quilt, as soon as the babies arrived and she was able to reach her treadle machine again.
Covering her as another spasm rocked her body, he realized she might be thirsty. He jumped back up, filled the cup they kept near the sink and offered it to her. She raised her head enough to sip a little before cowering back into a ball.
“I’m going to ring the bell, Leah.”
“Don’t go,” she begged.
“To ring the bell. David will hear and come.”
“Stay with me.” Her voice was broken, pleading.
“Two minutes. It will take me two minutes.” He didn’t wait. Instead, he kissed her softly on the cheek. How long had it been since he’d done that? Why had he been so remiss?
Then he ran out the door. Forgetting his shoes, forgetting his coat, not pausing to consider he still wore his nightclothes. Forgetting everything but the three lives behind him.
9
Annie woke to the sound of ringing on their baby monitor.
Samuel was already pulling on his clothes. “Try to go back to sleep,” he whispered, stopping long enough to brush a kiss on her forehead before heading down the stairs.
Sleeping was impossible though. Instead, she counted the rings on the telephone in their barn. It was a cell phone, and they could have brought it in the house. They’d both met with the bishop and discussed this at length. The reason Bishop Levi had allowed the phone was because she and Samuel were often called upon to help families within their community. The new process seemed to be working well. When someone was sick, a family member would run down to the nearest phone shack, where they would put in a call to Samuel.
Three years ago, they would bypass the phone shack and drive their buggy out to Samuel’s home. But too often his answer had been that they should have stopped and placed the 9-1-1 emergency call. Precious moments were lost.
The Christmas Quilt (Quilts of Love Series) Page 7
