by Adina Senft
“Let’s deal with those difficulties when we get to them,” Amelia suggested. “How are we going to help Lydia now?”
“She’s not taking any vitamins,” Carrie offered, “and I can’t get her to promise to see the doctor. That seems like the first thing to sort out, I think.”
“The baby’s not going to thrive on a diet of pizza and potatoes, that’s certain.” Mary Lapp gave an emphatic nod. “I’ll make it my business to get her to Doctor Stewart in town. After she cured Amelia, she can do anything, maybe even get a teenager to take her folic acid.”
“She didn’t actually cure me,” Amelia said gently. “She just gave me the right diagnosis.”
“Regardless.” Mary Lapp went on with majestic disregard for fine details. “That doctor’s young, too, and red-headed. Maybe Lydia will take to her. On the subject of food, I can organize a group to bring something nutritious for supper several days a week.”
“She can cook,” Sarah Grohl offered.
“I’m sure she can, but not when she’s working at the fabric store or gadding about in the evenings. We’ll look after that. What else?”
“I think the bishop should have a word with Abe Zook,” Ruth said. “Abe might not be a help, but we don’t want him being a hindrance, either. I don’t relish the thought of holding a hot casserole and being chased off his porch for my trouble.”
“I’d better start writing these down.” Mary Lapp fished in her handbag and brought out a pen and a wrinkled envelope.
“The baby will need clothes and blankets,” Susan said.
“We’re starting a quilt next week,” Carrie told her. “Emma’s wedding quilt will be finished, and that’s next on our list.” Amelia and Emma both turned their heads to stare at her, and she smiled brightly. “A pretty watercolor nine-patch will go together quickly, don’t you think?”
“It’d better,” Ruth Lehman muttered. “At the rate you three sew, the child will be in school before she gets it.”
Carrie’s smile grew broader, and the twinkle came back to Emma’s eyes as she said, “We’ll have it done in a month, I promise.”
Susan said, “I have lots of baby clothes saved from when the girls were small. Anything that’s missing, I can sew. Tiny garments go together quickly.”
Mary Lapp looked up from her notes. “Anything else? What about a crib and changing table?”
Amelia said, “I can lend those. I have them in the attic. Diapers, too.”
“You saved diapers?” Carrie said curiously.
Amelia shrugged. “You never know when God will open His hand and send another blessing.”
The women looked at one another with interest. Clearly Amelia and Eli were thinking of children of their own. Amelia didn’t miss it, either. She blushed and concentrated on finishing up her slice of pumpkin pie.
“I would like to give her some baby clothes, too,” Priscilla said softly, diverting everyone’s attention. “Mamm saved some of Rachel’s little things. Maybe Lydia would like to have them.”
“If we can convince her to keep the baby,” Ruth Lehman reminded them. “We should focus on getting her to take care of herself before the birth. If she really does give it up, then she’ll have no use for clothes and changing tables.”
In the excitement of planning for a new baby, even Carrie had forgotten the possibility that it might not come home. A cold feeling tiptoed down her back. Surely with all the love and concern in this room, Lydia could be convinced to do the right thing?
And how could Carrie pray for the girl to keep her child, when she herself wanted to give the baby a home so badly it hurt?
* * *
Carrie had been looking forward to a family Thanksgiving, with Aleta accompanying them to the King homestead, which her parents had been farming now for forty years. Her mother, Miriam, loved it when all her chicks were back in the nest, particularly when they brought their children, and other relatives came in from outlying areas of the district. The table just expanded to fit everyone, making a big U-shape between the dining room and sitting room.
For Carrie, this year’s family dinner was overshadowed by Aleta’s absence—which she would never have imagined in a hundred years. Was it because she had wanted to cultivate that tiny sprig of friendliness between them? Or because it seemed that Aleta was the only one close to Melvin who really saw things from her side?
The temptation to spill out her desire to adopt to her mother and sisters as they worked side by side to cook the dinner was overwhelming, but she hauled it back. If she said anything, negative things about Melvin’s refusal to consider it would come out, not to mention the real reason Aleta had gone home. Loyalty prevented it. It was one thing for Amelia and Emma to know. But her family, much as she loved them, never met a secret they didn’t set free, most of the time accidentally in conversation about other things.
So there you were. She laughed and dished up mountains of potatoes and cut an unending series of pumpkin and raisin pies, and said not a word about what was really in her heart.
For Christmas they traditionally traveled to Aleta’s to spend the holiday with Melvin’s family, but the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, a letter came.
Dear Son and Daughter,
I hope this letter finds you well, and your Communion Sunday last week was a blessing. We are having a cold snap down here, and your brother Peter had to come and help me wrap the pipes. I suppose I should have done it when we had that fine stretch over Thanksgiving, but what with everyone here for the meal, and church being here that very same Sunday, the pipes were the last thing on my mind.
They turn into the first thing when no water comes out of them, I’ll tell you.
I had been looking forward to welcoming you to the house for Old Christmas, along with the rest of the family, but my cousin Selma (Great-aunt Mollie’s oldest girl) wrote to invite me down to Pinecraft for two weeks. All this time that branch of the family has lived there, and I’ve never been. I’m nearly sixty and if I don’t start doing some of these things I’ve been meaning to do, I won’t get them done before the Lord decides my time is up.
So I will be leaving on December 15 and coming back on January 15. Little Ruthie (Simon’s fifteen-year-old) is going to stay here to keep an eye on the pipes and make sure the cats don’t tear the place up while I’m gone.
You’re welcome to come as usual. Your brothers will be glad to see you. Just let Simon know so Ruthie can change the beds. If you don’t, I know you will have a fine time at the Kings while we all remember the little Baby Who was born to show us how to live, and died to save and ransom us.
Your mother,
Aleta
“Do you think she’s offended?” Carrie handed the letter to Amelia, who smoothed it with one hand on the quilt top as she read. “This is the first time since I’ve been married that we haven’t gone to Melvin’s family’s home place for Christmas.”
Amelia handed the letter to Emma. “It sounds to me like she’s had enough of the weather down there and jumped at the chance to go somewhere warm.”
“Yes, but we always go, the whole family. It’s like Mamm and Daed’s place at Thanksgiving—the only time in the whole year that everyone is there at once.”
“It’s a lot of work.” Emma passed the letter to Carrie, who folded it up and put it in her apron pocket. “Maybe a holiday once every ten years isn’t so much for her to ask.”
“I just can’t help but feel she’s taking herself out of the picture so the whole baby mess doesn’t come up.”
“Does Melvin think she’s offended?” Amelia picked up her needle and kept stitching.
The quilt was nearly finished. In fact, today’s work would probably see it done—they were turning up the backing to the front side to bind it, with Emma and Amelia on the long sides and Carrie taking the two short sides. Today Emma would fold it up and take it home with her, and next week they would turn their minds to designing Lydia’s baby quilt.
“He hasn’t seen it yet. It ju
st came today.”
“Well, he knows his mother best. Let his reaction tell you the truth.” Amelia’s advice was always sound. Carrie felt a sense of relief and got down to business with needle and thread.
“We saw Lydia Zook yesterday, on our way home from the train station.” Emma’s words fell into the room’s companionable silence like stones onto a pond rimed in ice, and Carrie felt her hard-won composure crack. “She was coming out of the fabric store and didn’t wave or even look at us.”
Amelia set three end stitches, snipped it off, and rethreaded her needle with a fresh length of green thread. “That baby looks like more than three or four months. More like five. She’s not a very big girl to begin with, and she’s carrying him all out front. I can’t believe none of us noticed long before this.”
“Maybe it is more,” Emma suggested. “Maybe it’s April, not June. Has Mary convinced her to see a doctor yet?”
“If she hasn’t, she will.” Carrie’s voice held all their knowledge of Mary Lapp. She was like a force of nature when she had a mission to accomplish. “And I hope it’s soon.” Time to turn the subject back to Emma—the whole subject of babies was so sensitive it made her stomach hurt. “How was Thanksgiving in Paradise?”
“Grant’s parents are wonderful,” Emma said. “They gave us his grandmother’s china, which means I don’t have to worry if Zachary or the girls break a plate. We’ll have a second set as backup. And it was nice to go to church with them, too. Both of his brothers want us to come for another visit before planting starts.”
“You’d better go,” Amelia said. “You don’t want to be traveling if you’re pregnant.”
“What?” The needle fell from Carrie’s nerveless fingers. “Are you—you can’t be—” It was too soon. She hadn’t even been married a month.
Emma shot a glare at Amelia. “Don’t be starting rumors, you. Carrie, don’t look like that. Amelia is just teasing.” She half rose. “Carrie? Are you all right?”
But she wasn’t. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and the wind seemed to have picked up something awful, roaring around the room as though it meant to get in.
“Amelia, grab her! She’s going to fall.”
Amelia was a second too late.
Chapter 21
Carrie had fainted once or twice before, back in the hungry days, but time had not made it any more pleasant. She tried to sit up, but Amelia pressed her shoulders back.
“Put your head on the pillow, Liewi. I have a cold cloth here.”
“Did you eat lunch?” Emma asked, worry lines stamped between her brows. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine. Truly.” Then, “That feels good.” She took the cloth from Amelia and pressed it to her forehead, then her cheeks and neck. This time, when she sat up, they let her. “And ja, I ate a good lunch. I don’t know what that was about.”
But she did. It was about babies, and about—
“Emma, bischt du im e Familye weg?”
“Nei, not that I know of.” Emma was no slouch. Her gaze met Carrie’s and held. “Did that—is that why you fainted? Because you thought I might be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She got up slowly, half expecting the blood to drain out of her head again. But it didn’t. “Or maybe I just need to eat more spinach and broccoli.”
“I have broccoli.” Amelia watched her carefully, as though she would collapse again at any moment. “It’s growing nicely in the bed on the south side of the house. The boys will be delighted to give you their share.”
The fact that she could laugh was a good sign.
“I’m sorry I upset you with my teasing,” Amelia said more softly, contrition in her voice. “I should know better.”
“It would be a shame if you had to put a watch on every word because of me.” Carrie gripped her hand and then stood slowly. “Words don’t come between us, and I hope they never will.”
Even as they settled to their stitching again, her friends kept an eye on her. Not only that, they made sure their conversation touched on anything and everything but babies.
Carrie set the last stitches and snipped her thread. “I’m done.”
“I beat you.” Emma smiled with satisfaction, her shoulders relaxing when Carrie seemed to be breathing and acting normally again. “And Amelia is bringing up the rear.”
Amelia snipped her own thread, and together they shook the quilt out over the guest bed.
“It looks wunderbaar,” Emma said softly. “I can’t wait for Grant to see it.” She slipped her arms around their waists, one on either side of her. “Denki for giving it to us. Tonight we’ll sleep covered in love.”
Tears welled in Carrie’s eyes. “It belongs to you, and always has.”
“Even when I thought it was going to the auction—when I wanted it to go, so that Grant could make his house payment—the thought of giving it up hurt me.” She took a long breath. “The Lord always provides. I can keep our quilt, and with the money from my book, we’ve even been able to pay down the principal a little.”
Amelia released her. “Let’s fold it up and get you home. It looks like there’s going to be another storm.”
Emma hesitated. “Should we stay with Carrie until Melvin gets home?”
“No, you should not.” Pointedly, Carrie held open Emma’s big tote bag and Amelia slid the folded quilt into it. “I’m less likely to faint again than you are to get soaked. And I know how you hate driving in the rain.”
“That I do.” Emma pulled on her coat and her away bonnet. “Very well, then. Melvin should be home soon, shouldn’t he?”
“Within the hour.” Carrie hugged them both. “Be safe. It’s already getting dark. You’ll have to turn on the lamps.”
“Ja, Mamm.” Emma made a face at her, and she and Amelia ran down the steps to the barn, where the presence of another buggy told Carrie that Joshua was in there. He must have hitched up Emma’s horse while he was at it, because they were on their way in minutes, waving from behind the storm front.
Carrie pulled her shawl over her head and, pushed roughly by the wind, dashed across the yard and into the barn.
Joshua, wearing his tool belt, was standing below the loft looking up, hands on his hips.
“Thank you for hitching up for them,” she said a little breathlessly. Maybe running so soon after fainting was not the smartest thing to have done.
He turned. “What are you doing out here?”
“It was kind of you.”
“It was sensible. I know what time they usually leave, and I figured if I could save them a few minutes of getting wet, then that would be gut.”
She gazed at him for a moment. Would he be offended if she said what was on her mind?
“What?” he said. “I know that look. Spit it out.”
She smiled ruefully. “I was just thinking that when you first came here, I thought you were so self-centered and batzich. And now look at you, doing things for your friends.”
His eyebrows rose. “I have the least reason to be proud of anyone in the Gmee. But self-centered I probably am. Comes of not having anyone to put before myself.”
“Except for Jesus.” Her tone was dry. “Everything follows from that, you know.”
He kicked at a stray nail in the sawdust that lay in heaps and trails on the barn floor. “Trying out for preacher, are you?”
“No, just telling the truth.” Hopefully with more grace than Mary Lapp. But it did lead into something she wanted to know. “You put Lydia before yourself, too, I noticed. Do you happen to know if she’s been to the doctor?”
“I thought you women were making a project of her.”
“We are. But the first thing to do is to make sure she’s taking care of herself. Mary Lapp was going to kidnap her and take her in to Doctor Stewart. I haven’t heard if she succeeded.”
“You’d better ask Mary Lapp, then.” Bitterness flavored his tone the way a bit of mold could spoil a whole mouthful of food. “Lydia doesn’t talk to me.”
“I thought you were friends. Isn’t that what you told me when you were urging me to talk to her?”
“I thought we were, too.” He turned abruptly. “I should just marry the girl and give the Gmee what they all want—to be proven right.”
Carrie let that go and concentrated on the important part. “I think she’s a little young for you.” Though she hadn’t been too young to find an Englisch boyfriend and make a baby with him.
He hefted the hammer out of his belt and whacked a nail in the nearest post as though it were out of line. “Lydia might be young, but she’s no child. I know I don’t have much, but the hired man’s rooms at Hill’s are a sight better than what she’s got at home.”
Carrie couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she could hear a quality in his voice that had never been there before. “Do you love her, Joshua?” she asked softly.
“Love?” Something broke over his face, but whether it was pain or disgust, the light was too poor for her to tell. “Some folks don’t expect love to work into their plans, Carrie Miller. Some folks are happy to have a place to live and a good meal once in a while.” Still holding the hammer, he walked toward the ladder that led up to the new loft. “I expect that baby’d be happy to have both, no matter who offered it.”
Carrie turned when the sound of hammering up above told her that the conversation was done. Outside, the rain fell in skeins past the open barn door. The tears she had not allowed to fall earlier welled up and streaked down her cheeks.
Stubborn, foolish Lydia, taking her own way at the expense of her baby’s health and surely its future. What would become of her? What would become of the child?
O Lord, help us, her heart cried silently. Help Lydia. Help me, and Joshua, and my Melvin, who has hard places in the fields of his heart where no compassion lies. Your will be done, but O Lord, give me the strength to know it…and to do it. Somehow. Before it’s too late.
