The Amish Midwife

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Hurry,” Ella said, scrambling out of the car. “We’re going to be late.” I followed her and Zed followed me, lagging behind. The church was made of bricks with a white steeple and was fairly small. We entered through a basement side door into a fellowship hall, where a few people lingered, drinking coffee and chatting.

  “This way.” Ella hurried up a staircase that came out into a foyer. Esther was across the way, and Simon rode on her hip. When he saw Ella, he reached for her. Music was playing in the sanctuary, and soon we were inside. It took me a moment to realize that the men sat on one side and the women on the other. I settled into a pew in the middle of the room with Esther, Ella, and Simon. Zed found a seat closer to the front with some friends.

  “David leads the singing,” Ella whispered. Sure enough, the man we had seen in front of the courthouse two days before stood up front. There was a screen behind him with an image of a waterfall.

  Many of the women wore head coverings, but not all. Several other Africans were in the congregation, plus quite a few Hispanics. A group of teenage girls sat in the row in front of us wearing short skirts. A few, even in the cool spring weather, wore tank tops. One of the girls turned and said hello to Ella.

  David’s voice was deep and loud. I didn’t recognize most of the songs until a few hymns at the end, including “How Great Thou Art.” Simon couldn’t settle on sitting with his mom or Ella. Finally he scurried across Ella’s lap to me, and I gave him my cell phone to play with. He liked that and leaned against me, his compact little body melting against mine.

  A woman who worked for six months in an orphanage in Honduras spoke about her work, using a PowerPoint presentation of the facility and the children. Many had lived on the streets and were tough and wily, but their hearts softened when shown care and kindness. She also had photos of a merry-go-round and swing set the church had paid for. She said the children had to be taught how to play and use their imaginations. They hadn’t been encouraged to do that before.

  The next image was of a group of little boys playing soccer.

  “Futball!” Simon said, dropping my phone and clapping his hands together.

  Ella giggled as she retrieved my cell from under the pew in front of us. By the time the presentation was over, Simon was fussy and Esther took him back, holding him securely against her big belly. He rested his head on her shoulder. After a few minutes his eyes grew drowsy and he slept. It wasn’t until the pastor started his sermon and Ella nudged me that I realized I’d had my attention fixed on Simon.

  I tried to listen to the teaching, which was on forgiving seventy times seventy, but my mind kept wandering. Could I forgive Marta for being so cold and stingy? She was spending the day fasting and praying, but she was totally without empathy for me. The best thing I could do was get out of her home and her life. I had no business letting myself be mistreated by her. She had the ability to give me all the information I needed in ten minutes, information I was sure she had. The fact that she didn’t was just more evidence that I needed to take care of myself, that I couldn’t trust anyone else to take care of me.

  “We forgive because God forgave us,” the pastor said.

  I wanted to raise my hand to say that in order to accept God’s forgiveness, we had to admit that we had done something wrong. He didn’t just give forgiveness freely. I wasn’t so sure God expected us to forgive people who didn’t admit they had done anything wrong—people who went on their merry ways, living in denial and oblivious to what had been done to us. People like Marta and whoever else was keeping secrets from me.

  At the end of the service, David led the benediction and then dismissed the congregants. Simon stirred on Esther’s shoulder, and Ella tried to take him so his mother could stand, but the little boy began to cry.

  “’Tis fine,” Esther said. “David will get him in a minute.”

  Soon Zed and David were beside us, and Esther introduced her husband to me.

  “Will you deliver our child?” he asked as he took his son into his arms.

  I shook my head. “Not unless Esther has the baby in the next couple of days, which we don’t want.” I smiled. “I’m headed to Harrisburg on Tuesday and then on to Philadelphia.” That was my new plan.

  Ella crossed her arms. “Who’s going to help Mom?”

  “I’m sure she has some ideas,” I answered.

  David shook my hand. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope our paths will cross again someday.”

  I nodded, but I knew they wouldn’t be in the States much longer and I didn’t foresee myself ever going to Ethiopia. I hugged Esther and patted Simon’s back. He gave me a half smile and then hid his face against his father’s neck.

  As I drove home, Ella asked me what I thought of the sermon.

  Zed groaned. “You sound like Mom.”

  Ella ignored him.

  I told her I’d heard many variations of that same sermon and not one of the preachers addressed what we should do when the person we needed to forgive wouldn’t acknowledge they had done anything wrong.

  “Forgive.” Ella spoke with force. “Matthew 6:14 and 15 says, ‘If you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.’ It doesn’t say anything about the offender acknowledging their sins.”

  I blew air up my forehead.

  Ella didn’t seem to notice. “That’s what demut is all about.”

  “De…what?”

  “Demut. It means to let things be, to not try to control everything and everyone.” She had that know-it-all way of a teenager. Or maybe of a firstborn who was so used to being right that she could make anything sound like fact. “It means, with humility, to trust God and leave justice to Him.” Ella sighed. “I’m really trying to do that with this case against Mom right now.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I mean, I wish I could control this, but I can’t. I know she’s innocent. She would never do anything to harm a mother or a baby, but I don’t have any control over what happens with the court system. I have to let it be. To trust God. To forgive those who are trying to bring harm to us.”

  We rode in silence for a few minutes as we left the city limits. I mulled over the concept of Marta as a victim. I was so used to thinking of her as someone who was harming me.

  “I don’t get demut,” Zed finally said. “I mean, I know the Amish are really into it, right? That’s where Mom got it. But how about that one Amish family that lives on the other side of the bridge? Remember when they had a whole bunch of tools stolen and they knew who did it, but they never pressed charges?”

  Ella looked at me. “It was their Englisch neighbor’s nephew who did it.”

  “And then he broke into some other houses and hurt an old lady,” Zed continued. “If the Amish would have pressed charges in the first place, it would have been a whole lot better for everyone involved. Even the criminal.”

  I nodded in agreement. “That’s how justice works,” I said. “It brings closure for the victim and protects others.”

  Ella stared straight ahead, not speaking. I decided not to push it and asked Zed if I could get on his computer for a few minutes when we got home.

  “Sure,” he said, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

  “How are you at Internet searches?” I asked.

  He perked up a little. “I’m good.”

  “I’m trying to locate information on an Abraham Sommers who lived in Switzerland in the 1870s that would link him to Amielbach. And I tried to get information on Giselle, but none of the leads panned out.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “My German is pretty good. Maybe that will help me with the Switzerland connection.”

  “Cool,” I said and meant it.

  Ella was still staring out the window. I liked how loyal she was to her mother, even though the woman didn’t deserve it. I liked both of my cousins. A lot.

  FIFTEEN
>
  The Monday appointments passed quickly. Between patients I thought about the man in the field I’d seen Saturday morning and the questioning look on his face. Surely word was out about a midwife from Oregon helping Marta. Would Klara and Alexander have known that’s where I ended up? Or did Mammi keep that to herself? Would Giselle have known?

  I had to go back to Klara’s. I would pack my things tonight, go by the house in the morning, and then head to Harrisburg. By tomorrow I’d be back in Philly.

  Giselle. The mystery mother. There hadn’t been anything posted on the registry when I checked the day before.

  My thoughts bounced around as I listened to the heartbeats of the babies and took the blood pressures of their mothers, recording each detail in their charts. Most of the women asked about Marta. I told them she needed to take some time off. That was all. Now that I had examined close to fifteen clients, I began to try to figure out the connections between the women, guessing at who might be sisters or sisters-in-law. But the women would lower their eyes and not respond. Finally the last patient of the afternoon, a woman in her late thirties named Peggy, told me, gently, that Amish women didn’t talk much about pregnancy.

  I was dumbfounded.

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “It might be a little bit superstition. Also, we don’t draw attention to ourselves.”

  “But how can women who live so close to each other not talk about the most important thing in their lives?” I draped my stethoscope over my shoulder.

  “Well, we have our husbands and our other children and our work to keep us busy. We have plenty to talk about.”

  That was true.

  She checked the position of her bonnet with her hands. “It’s just the way we Plain folk do things,” she said. “That’s all.”

  I nodded, even though I could barely comprehend what she was saying.

  I glanced at the clock on the desk. It was four thirty. “Will you still have to fix dinner when you get home?”

  “Oh, no,” she answered. “My oldest daughters are doing that.” She slung her black cape over her shoulders. She’d just told me her oldest child was twenty and her youngest was four. She had seven in between. “I’m going to stop by the big box store.”

  “The what?” My voice cracked as I tried to imagine the woman at a Costco or Sam’s or BJ’s.

  “Ya, it’s not too far out of the way.” She spoke in a lighthearted, carefree manner.

  She was eight and a half months pregnant. I imagined her lifting cases of cans into her buggy. But cans of what? Wouldn’t she put up fruits and vegetables herself? Maybe she bought toilet paper and laundry detergent.

  Or maybe she just browsed. Soon she would have baby number ten, and it might be a while until she got out of the house by herself.

  “We’re having services at our house come Sunday,” she explained. “And I’m also stocking up for when the baby comes.” She fastened the top hook and eye of her cape.

  I couldn’t help myself. “What do you buy there?”

  “Everything. Frozen pizzas. Lasagna. Canned goods. Soups.” She smiled. “Paper products. Socks. Towels. Whatever it is I need. The prices are good.”

  She tied her black bonnet under her chin as I walked with her to the door. Dark clouds had blown in during the afternoon. “Drive safely,” I said as she climbed into her buggy, trying to shake off another misconception I had of the Amish.

  “Ya,” she said. “I always drive carefully.”

  Ella had told me several buggy crashes occurred every year. Collisions with cars. Nighttime wrecks. Even an accident involving a snowmobile last winter.

  I waved and watched the woman pull onto the highway, her horse practically prancing as he gathered momentum on the blacktop. Peggy smiled and waved. In a second she was gone.

  The front door slammed and Zed appeared, a hoodie in his hands. He glanced at me but didn’t speak. He shoved his arms through the sleeves of the sweatshirt as he made his way around the side of the house. The air had grown damp and chilly. As I walked back to the office, the sound of an ax rang out from the backyard. The front door slammed again, and Ella came out with the scrap bucket for the chickens.

  “Hello,” I called out to her.

  She waved and then veered away from the path to the coop and toward me.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She wasn’t wearing her bonnet, and strands of hair had come undone from her bun. “Mom wanted some peace and quiet. She had a phone call and now she’s upset.”

  “Oh.”

  “She said she needed time on the computer and we needed to go outside.”

  I’d been hoping to check if there was a registry message on Zed’s computer, but it looked as though I was headed to the coffee shop again.

  “We’re having leftovers for dinner,” Ella said. She made a face. “It’s clean-out-the-fridge night. Mom’s freaking out about money.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ella. Leftovers are fine,” I said, pivoting away from her toward the office. After I finished the filing and cleaned the office, I found Zed and Ella sitting on the steps of the front porch. A stack of wood was by the door.

  “Mom says she can think better if we stay out here.” Zed zipped up his sweatshirt and Ella put her arm around him. She wore a too-big coat that looked as if it had been her father’s.

  “I need to go into town and check my email. Want to come along?” I asked.

  Ella frowned.

  “I’ll run it by your mom.” I pointed toward the front door. “I need to go get my laptop.”

  They parted and I slipped up the stairs between them.

  Marta was at the computer, scrolling down the screen, a pen in her hand and a piece of paper on the desk with a list of names and phone numbers written down.

  I cleared my throat. Her head turned toward me, slowly. “I’m going to head into town,” I said. “Is it okay if I take Ella and Zed with me? I’ll get them some dinner.”

  She nodded and then her eyes drifted back to the computer screen.

  A minute later, with my laptop in hand and my tote bag over my shoulder, I hurried out onto the porch. Ella and Zed were standing under the eaves of the cottage, away from the rain that had just started.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll get dinner while we’re out.”

  Zed reached the car first and scrambled into the backseat. I held my computer bag close to my chest, not wanting any water to seep through the zipper.

  As I started the car, the rain began coming down in sheets, and I thought of Peggy in the downpour. Did buggies hydroplane? Did the horses spook if there was lightning?

  Inhaling deeply and blowing it out, I pushed those thoughts from my mind. I had enough going on without fretting about Peggy too.

  “Where do you want to eat?” We could have dinner and then stop by the coffee shop.

  Neither kid responded at first.

  “Burgers?” Zed offered.

  “Or pizza.” Ella shrugged.

  “Do you like Japanese food?” I asked.

  “Have we had that?” Zed poked Ella’s shoulder over the seat.

  “I have, but I don’t think you have.”

  “When did you have it?”

  Ella blushed.

  A minute later I pulled into the strip mall. I’d noticed the restaurant the day before.

  “Can I check out your computer?” Zed asked. “Once we’re inside?”

  I nodded. “Go ahead and carry it in.”

  In no time we were settled at a table and admiring the decor: dark teak-wood tables and chairs, Japanese screens, black stoneware, and ivory carvings. We opened the menus. Ella said she liked sushi. Zed asked where she’d had it.

  “A place downtown.”

  “With?” He clutched my computer to his chest.

  “None of your beeswax.” She glared at him. Obviously she wanted to impress me but keep him in the dark at the same time.

  “What would you like?” I asked Zed.

 
“Whatever you order is fine.” He looked around. Voice softening, he added, “But not too expensive. I don’t want to break your bank.”

  I decided on a noodle dish and a chicken dish. Ella chose an order of sushi. By the time we had closed our menus, Zed had my computer out of the bag and on the table in front of him, across from me. I was pretty sure a laptop at dinner was on Marta’s forbidden list too.

  Zed clicked around for a minute and then smiled. “I found an open network,” he said, flicking his bangs away from his forehead.

  “Really?” I leaned forward. “Let me check my messages.”

  He turned the computer around, and I clicked onto my email. The waiter approached our table, and Ella ordered for all of us.

  I didn’t have any messages from the registry. Ella looked over my shoulder. “Don’t you think she probably married?” She’d figured out pretty quickly what I was up to. “If so, she would have a different last name.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I need to start somewhere.”

  “Do you think she lives around here?”

  I shrugged.

  “If she did, don’t you think she’d come see us sometime?”

  “You would hope, but maybe something happened that made her feel like she couldn’t come back.” What sort of things tore a family apart? Misunderstandings. Betrayals. Shunnings. But even people who were shunned came back to visit or at least stayed in contact. What would make Giselle leave and never return?

  Zed leaned back in his chair, his big brown eyes shaded by his bangs.

  “Do you ever think about your birth family?” I asked.

  “Nope.” He crossed his arms. “Never.” His voice was firm.

  I slid the computer back to him and he smiled.

  The rain continued as we left the restaurant. Surely Peggy was home by now. She was probably finishing the dinner dishes and urging her four-year-old toward bed. Her older sons had probably carried in the groceries and unhitched the horse. Her husband was probably checking the livestock one last time and thinking about which field to plow in the morning, as long as the rain stopped.

  When we reached the cottage, Ella and Zed were in a good mood as we clattered up the steps to the porch. The lights were off on the first floor, and Ella felt around for the switch. The computer was turned off too. The clear opening of the woodstove showed that a fire was burning, hot and bright.