by Marta Perry
“Well?” Aaron’s voice was sharp. “Was ist letz? What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I forgot to put the cutter in.” Benjamin’s embarrassment was probably doubled because she was here.
“Forgot it?” Aaron’s face tightened even more, if that was possible. “How are we to cut the insulation without it?”
Benjamin’s guilt turned to a pout, and he looked so like her own little brother when he’d done something wrong that Sarah wanted to reach out to him. But Aaron would hardly welcome that.
“It’s no big deal,” Benjamin muttered.
“Don’t talk to me as if I were one of your Englisch friends.” Aaron glanced at her and then caught the boy by the arm. “Komm. I’ll tell you some other things to bring when you go back for the cutter.” He marched Benjamin outside.
Sarah had to press her lips together to keep from voicing her opinion. Didn’t Aaron see that being sharp with the boy would only make him more rebellious?
“Do you have bruders, Sarah?” Nathan’s question pulled her attention away from the two of them who stood out by the wagon.
“Ja, five of them and no sisters, so I know a little about getting along with boys.” She thought of her own youngest brother. “James, the youngest, is fourteen. He’s going to be a dairy farmer, just like Daad, if he has his way.”
“That’s nice, that is.” Nathan paused for a moment, straightening so that he could see out the door opening to where his brothers stood. “Often boys that age don’t know what they want.”
“True enough. Did you?”
Nathan grinned. “For sure. Aaron put tools in my hands as soon as I could hold them. I never wanted anything else.”
Obviously Aaron had taken time and patience with his siblings. “It seems as if Aaron is more like a father to you two than a brother sometimes.” She remembered what Aunt Emma had said about the father’s drinking problem and wished the words back.
But Nathan didn’t seem to take offense. “Ja, he always has been. He was fourteen when Mammi died, so he just took charge.” His smile flickered again. “Molly reminds him that we’re most all grown up now and he can relax, but I don’t suppose he ever will.”
“Parents don’t, do they? My daad still worries over me.” She felt a rush of longing to have Daadi’s arms around her shoulders. “Now I know how much that concern means, but there were times when I was impatient with what seemed like endless fussing.”
“Like Benjamin.” Nathan didn’t seem too concerned. “It will all komm straight.”
She hesitated, wondering if she could say the thought in her mind. But if she didn’t speak, how could she know what Nathan might say?
“I’m afraid that this project is difficult for Aaron. Because of your mamm.”
He was silent for so long that Sarah feared she’d gone too far. Then he nodded.
“Maybe. But maybe that’s gut. Bishop Mose would say that all of this—you being here, our doing the work—is God’s will, meant for our well-being.”
She smiled despite the tears that filled her eyes. “Nathan, I think that you are very wise for someone so young.”
“Not me. But Sarah . . .” He hesitated a moment. “If Aaron gives you trouble, just remember that you’re the boss on this job, ain’t so?”
She couldn’t respond because she heard Aaron returning, but she gave Nathan a grateful smile before she turned toward Aaron.
He glanced from Nathan to her as if wondering what was going on between them. “Benjamin will be back soon. That boy would forget his head if it weren’t attached.”
“Most nearly-sixteen-year-olds are like that,” she said easily. “Now, about the storage areas.” She didn’t give Aaron time to protest. “When you break for lunch, I will show you what we have now in the exam room and what things I want changed.”
She was pleased to hear that her words didn’t leave any room for excuses. Aaron must feel that way, too, because he simply gave a sharp nod of agreement before turning back to his work.
Aaron followed Sarah into what she called the exam room, and the beef-and-onion pie Emma had served for lunch seemed to form a clump in his stomach. He didn’t want to talk about what Sarah and Emma needed for delivering babies. But Sarah hadn’t left him much choice in the matter, now had she?
Her firmness had taken him by surprise. He didn’t remember such spirit in the girl she’d been. Maturity had changed her in a number of ways, it seemed.
His gaze lingered on the long curve of Sarah’s slim back as she moved to the closet and opened it. He blinked and stared at a hairline crack in the plaster instead. He didn’t need to be noticing anything about Sarah Mast—that was certain sure.
“You can see that we’re a little cramped for space.” She gestured at two large black bags on the bottom shelf. “We manage to fit what we need in our bags when we do home births, but we’d like to have about half again the storage in the birthing rooms.” She darted a glance at him. “Is this making you nervous, Aaron?”
He shrugged, pulling his measuring tape from his pocket. “Don’t most men feel that way when it comes to talking about babies?”
She considered, head tipped slightly to one side. “I would say that Amish men usually take birthing fairly calmly, even though they don’t talk about it much. Englischers are another matter.” Her face relaxed in a smile. “I remember one husband—a great big fellow he was, and so sure he’d be able to help his wife through delivery. Instead he passed out flat on the floor, and we had to tend him.”
Aaron managed an answering smile, though he didn’t feel anything resembling humor. His father hadn’t done so well when Mamm was in labor, as he recalled. He’d slipped away, leaving everything to the midwife.
Sliding out the metal tape, Aaron knelt to measure the length of the closet. The tape snapped back when he pulled out his pad and pencil.
“Let me.” Sarah took the pencil and paper from his hand, her fingers brushing his. “You tell me the measurements, and I’ll write them down.”
“Ja, fine.” He needed to concentrate on the job, not let his mind wander off into the past. Or onto his own personal feelings about midwives.
Bishop Mose had pushed him into this job, and he would do it. But he didn’t have to like it.
“Forty-eight inches long.” Still, he couldn’t help being aware of Sarah standing just behind him, the hem of her skirt brushing his arm. He swung the tape vertically. “Looks like the spacing between the shelves is fourteen inches, and the shelves are ten inches wide.”
Sarah jotted down the numbers before she spoke again. “Deeper shelves would be more useful. Can you do that?”
“Sure.” He glanced up at her, sidetracked for a moment by the view of her face from this unexpected angle. He stood, taking a careful step away. “Anything else?”
“Aunt Emma loves her corner cupboard in the kitchen. I was thinking to put one in each room, if you and your brothers could do that.”
He nodded, making a note of it. “We can. Nathan has a gut hand with designing shelf units.”
“Nathan loves working with you. He says you started teaching him when he was barely old enough to hold the tools.”
When had she gotten on such friendly terms with Nathan? “Ja, I guess that’s so.”
“And I suppose you did the same with Benjamin, as well.”
Her tone was casual, but he didn’t doubt that her thoughts were on how he’d handled the boy this morning. Already he regretted that, but he wasn’t going to say so to Sarah.
“Benjamin does well, when he puts his mind to it. Unfortunately, that’s not often enough.” He snapped the tape closed and slid it back into his pocket.
“Ach, he reminds me of my youngest brother, James. I think they’re all a little befuddled at that age, don’t you?”
“Benjamin must learn to be responsible.” His voice snapped like the tape had, snicking back into its case.
“Like you?” Her gaze met his, and there was a spark in her green eyes.
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“I have to be responsible. As you do.”
“We’re adults. Benjamin is a boy still.”
“And he is my brother. I will handle him as I see fit.”
For an instant they glared at each other. Were they arguing about Benjamin? Or about the other thing that lay between them?
The door swung open, and Emma hurried in. “Ach, Sarah, we must hurry. It’s almost time for the patients to start arriving.”
Tension tightened his hands into fists. “I thought you didn’t see patients today,” he said.
“We don’t.” Sarah had paled. She moved quickly to Emma and took her arm. “We don’t have any patients coming today, Aunt Emma. Remember? This is Wednesday.”
For a moment Emma just stared at her. Then she shook her head, her concerned expression dissolving in ruefulness. “Ach, I’m ferhoodled today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re tired, that’s all.” Sarah took the older woman’s arm and turned her toward the door. “Why don’t you have a rest? I’ll clean up from lunch as soon as Aaron and I are finished.”
Sarah’s caring, her gentleness, seemed to touch something inside him. But the incident just confirmed what he already felt. Emma should retire. Surely Sarah could see that as well as he did.
Emma went out, still shaking her head at herself. Sarah swung toward him, face defensive.
“I suppose you think that means something.”
“I think it means what any sensible person would think. Emma is growing forgetful. She shouldn’t be delivering babies.”
Sarah folded her arms across her chest. “Just because she loses track of the days doesn’t mean she has to be put out to pasture.”
“What if she forgets when she’s supposed to be delivering a baby?”
“That won’t happen. I’m here. I won’t let it.”
“You can’t do everything, Sarah.” His voice softened despite himself. She seemed so alone. He didn’t want her to be hurt. “It’s not too late to pull back from the project. You don’t have to sink your savings into something that may not work out.”
“You’d like to get out of this, wouldn’t you?” The flare of defiance that accompanied the words startled him. “You may as well forget that idea, Aaron. I’m not changing my plans for you or anyone else.”
Aunt Emma might have grown a little forgetful, but not when it came to the activities of her church. So Sarah found herself in the kitchen at the township fire hall at five in the morning. The cement-block building was filled with a group of women putting on a hunters’ breakfast to raise money for charity.
She’d already been awake when Aunt Emma came to call her at four. Her sleep had been troubled by the guilt that hung over her. She had lost her temper with Aaron and spoken hasty, angry words. She almost never did such a thing, and she couldn’t understand what had gotten into her.
She’d already asked God for forgiveness. She’d have to ask Aaron, as well, before things would be right.
“Do you do this every year?” She stood next to Leah at the huge commercial gas range, watching over griddle after griddle filled with pancakes.
“Just about.” Leah flipped blueberry pancakes with an expert hand. “Everyone comes, Amish, Mennonite, and Englisch alike, and not only hunters. This year the money will go to Mennonite Disaster Relief for hurricane victims.”
“My church in Ohio raised money for that, too.” Sarah scooped buckwheat batter onto a griddle. “This was a bad year for hurricanes, for sure.”
She glanced through the pass-through at the large open room filled with long tables. They were already lined with people in hunter orange, eating their way through mountains of pancakes, sausage, bacon, and eggs prepared all ways, to say nothing of all the coffeecakes and breads the women had brought.
“Looks like you’ll raise plenty of money today,” she said.
“We’ll raise plenty,” Leah said, correcting her with a smile. “You are one of us now, remember?”
“Ja, I remember.” It felt good, being accepted here. The warmth, chatter, and laughter of the kitchen seemed to envelop Sarah with a sense of familiarity. This day was such an example of what it meant to be Amish.
“It’s gut, working together this way.” Leah seemed to echo her thoughts. “Some folks would just write a check to help, but I like actually working. I like teaching the children that this is the right thing to do.”
Sarah nodded. She’d already seen Leah’s stepchildren hard at work, carrying trays and coffeepots around the large room.
“You are setting them a gut example. And they are finding out that it is fun to work together.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Leah gave her a quick smile. “This is how we get to know each other so well, ain’t so?”
Sarah nodded. What Leah said went to the heart of what it meant to be Amish. This time together, working with sisters, was part of what wove the tough, durable fabric of the Amish community.
Leah was quiet for a few minutes, concentrating on the next batch of pancakes. Once they were all going, she turned back to Sarah.
“I hear that you might want to go to the clinic with me one day.”
Sarah couldn’t help smiling. The Amish might not have telephones, but news traveled fast—the Amish telegraph, some folks called it.
“Ja, I would like to. Aunt Emma says that is the best place to arrange for newborn testing.”
Leah nodded. “You must meet Dr. Brandenmyer. He is so dedicated to helping babies. The research his clinic does will lead to solving the genetic diseases, I pray.”
“I pray that, as well.” Sarah’s throat tightened at the thought of no more babies doomed to a short, difficult life. “What is the work that you do for the clinic?”
“Collecting family tree information, mostly,” Leah said. “They can trace the incidence of genetic problems through the families.”
Sarah nodded, impressed. “Our people trust you. They wouldn’t give up that information easily to a stranger coming to the door.”
“That is my part,” Leah said. “And I understand that you believe in testing every newborn, even when the families have no history of disease.”
That news had spread fast, as well. People would have varying reactions to it, Sarah feared.
“I think testing everyone is for the best. If everyone’s child is tested automatically, then no one can object. Early detection can save babies. That’s what is important. And it’s gut for the parents, also, to know from the start what they are facing.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that.” Her gaze warm, Leah clasped Sarah’s hand, and Sarah had the sense that she’d gained a valuable ally. “That has not always been the case in the past.”
Sarah closed her lips. There was nothing she could say. She wasn’t going to criticize Aunt Emma to anyone, even if she agreed.
“I would like to go to the clinic with you,” she said. “But are you sure Dr. Brandenmyer will welcome a midwife to the area?”
“I’m sure,” Leah said. “He’s a believer in midwives. Especially one like you, who is so dedicated. Will this coming Wednesday be all right for you? I can arrange for a driver.”
“Ja, that will be wonderful gut.” The trip was settled so easily, and she would walk into the clinic with a friend. That meant a great deal.
“Ach, here is someone who also loves Dr. Brandenmyer.” Leah turned from the stove to embrace a woman who had just come in. “Sarah, this is my sister-in-law, Myra. And her little girl, Anna Grace.”
Myra was a sweet-faced young woman with shy dark eyes. The child on her hip reached for Leah, smiling, sure of her welcome. She was adorable, with chubby pink cheeks and wispy blond hair. She was also a Down syndrome child.
The thought went through Sarah’s mind in an instant. She smiled at Myra. “I am glad to meet you. And this little one, also.” She touched one chubby hand and was rewarded with a chuckle.
“We are so fortunate to have another midwife in Pleasant Valley.” My
ra’s greeting was warm. “I hope to have a midwife the next time I have a baby.” She bounced little Anna on her hip. “I went to the clinic for my first two babies.”
Sarah nodded. It wasn’t unusual for an Amish mother to choose a doctor for her first birth and then, if all went well, to switch to a midwife for other births.
And if that next baby was Down syndrome, as well, he or she would be loved and cherished just as Anna Grace obviously was. It would be God’s will.
“You two have been cooking over the stove long enough.” Barbara, Leah’s other sister-in-law, bustled up to them, her cheeks bright red from the heat of the kitchen. “You go and take over the serving table, and I’ll set someone else to turning pancakes for a while.”
“I don’t mind staying at the stove,” Sarah said.
Leah took her arm. “Komm, now. Barbara is in charge today, so we will follow orders. We’ll get a chance at every job before the day is over.”
Filling plates for people as they came to the table was definitely cooler than working over the hot stove. Almost too cool, in fact, as a blast of cold air filtered through the room each time the door opened.
Leah shivered a little. “That inch of snow on the ground will make the hunters happy. If the old-timers are right, we’re in for a snowy winter.”
“Midwives aren’t so happy with snowy winters, no matter how much hunters like them,” Sarah said. “I’ve never missed catching a baby, but it has been nip and tuck sometimes.”
A fresh group came to the table, cutting off their conversation. Sarah filled plates quickly with generous helpings. The breakfast was all-you-can-eat, and most people took that seriously.
“Can I have some extra scrambled eggs?”
Sarah looked up to find Benjamin Miller standing in front of her. “Of course.” She piled an extra scoop on his plate. “You can komm back for more, you know.”
“He will.” Nathan clapped him on the shoulder. “You can be sure of that.”
“Gut. We don’t want to have any leftovers.” She managed to keep a smile on her face as she realized that Aaron was standing behind his brothers. She’d just been thinking that she owed him an apology. God was giving her the opportunity.
