Advance Praise for The Midwife
“Jolina Petersheim’s lyrical storytelling absolutely sings—but it’s her quick-paced plot, complex characters, and insights into the Plain world that made it impossible for me to put The Midwife down.”
LESLIE GOULD
Bestselling author of The Amish Midwife
“Masterfully told . . . riveting . . . with enough twists and turns to surprise any reader. I promise this story will make you think, pull at your heartstrings, and keep you turning pages until the end.”
SALOMA MILLER FURLONG
Author of Bonnet Strings: An Amish Woman’s Ties to Two Worlds
“The bonds of motherhood and choices made ripple across generations in this powerful story that challenges the reader to examine modern-day ethics in light of eternal truths. A story of hope and restoration, The Midwife is a tale to be savored.”
CARLA STEWART
Award-winning author of The Hatmaker’s Heart
“The Midwife is a stunning narrative that explores maternal attachment in all its forms and God’s all-encompassing care and plan. Ms. Petersheim colors outside the lines with her unique writing style, and I have once again fallen in love with her work.”
KELLIE COATES GILBERT
Author of A Woman of Fortune
“In The Midwife, Jolina Petersheim’s thoughtful storytelling illustrates how God’s love can woo us from pain and hiding into the abundant life He has created.”
DENISE HILDRETH JONES
Author of Secrets Over Sweet Tea
“The Midwife reads like a story that’s been unearthed instead of imagined. Decades of pain and rejection are peeled away slowly, deftly. Jolina Petersheim weaves a brilliant story that lets us absorb the years and grow with her characters. By the time they’re ready to consider the risk of holding out and the cost of letting go, so are we.”
SHELLIE RUSHING TOMLINSON
Belle of All Things Southern and author of Heart Wide Open
“Englisch and Mennonite worlds collide in this poetically written story, layered with intrigue, mystery, and redemption. With a large cast of characters, readers are sure to find a version of themselves and the gift of hope in the pages of The Midwife.”
ELIZABETH BYLER YOUNTS
Author of Promise to Return
Praise for The Outcast
“Petersheim makes an outstanding debut with this fresh and inspirational retelling of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. Well-drawn characters and good, old-fashioned storytelling combine in an excellent choice for Nancy Mehl’s readers.”
LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW
“Petersheim’s emotional story leaves readers intrigued by the purity of Rachel’s strong will, resilience, and loyalty.”
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Like Hawthorne, Petersheim clearly dramatizes the weight of sin, but she deviates from the original by leaving room for repentance.”
WORLD MAGAZINE, CHOSEN AS A “NOTABLE BOOK”
“From its opening lines, The Outcast wowed me in every way. Quickly paced, beautifully written, flawlessly executed, I could not put this book down.”
KATHERINE SCOTT JONES FOR SHE READS
“The story line runs smoothly throughout, with twists that readers will enjoy. The author’s Plain background shines in this moving novel.”
ROMANTIC TIMES
“A powerful and poignant story that transcends genre stereotypes and is not easily forgotten. The caliber of Jolina’s prose defies her debut author status, and I’m eager to read more.”
RELZ REVIEWZ
“You are going to love this book. Be ready to enter an amazing new world, but make sure you have a box of Kleenex for this journey.”
A NOVEL REVIEW
“A must-read that will draw you into a secretive world of sin and senselessness and leave you with the hope of one set free.”
JULIE CANTRELL
New York Times bestselling author of Into the Free
“Don’t miss this vivid, lyrical journey into a mysterious world that many view from the outside, but few understand as intimately as Jolina Petersheim—a talented new author to watch!”
LISA WINGATE
National bestselling author of The Prayer Box
“Surprising and satisfying, this epic first novel of love and betrayal, forgiveness and redemption will resonate with people from every corner of life.”
RIVER JORDAN
National bestselling author of Praying for Strangers
“From the first word until the last, The Outcast captivates and charms, reminding us that forgiveness and love are two of life’s greatest gifts. A brilliant must-read debut novel.”
RENEA WINCHESTER
Author of In the Garden with Billy: Lessons about Life, Love & Tomatoes
“The Outcast is an insightful look at the complexities of living in community while living out one’s faith.”
KAREN SPEARS ZACHARIAS
Author of Will Jesus Buy Me a Doublewide? ’cause I need more room for my plasma TV
“[This] riveting portrait of life behind this curious and ofttimes mysterious world captivated me from the first word and left me breathless for more.”
LISA PATTON
Bestselling author of Whistlin’ Dixie in a Nor’easter
“I have to say I’ve never been a fan of the Amish fiction genre. I’m still not. But Jolina Petersheim’s The Outcast was the only Amish fiction book I’ve ever read from cover to cover.”
IRA WAGLER
USA Today & New York Times bestselling author of Growing Up Amish
“A story of hypocrisy and redemption in a secretive community that will keep the reader turning the pages.”
MICHAEL MORRIS
Award-winning author of Man in the Blue Moon
Visit Tyndale online at www.tyndale.com.
Visit Jolina Petersheim online at www.jolinapetersheim.com.
TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
The Midwife
Copyright © 2014 by Jolina Petersheim
Cover image of woman copyright © Juanmonio/Getty Images. All rights reserved.
Cover image of baby copyright © Lisa Valder/Getty Images. All rights reserved.
Designed by Dean H. Renninger
Edited by Kathryn S. Olson
Published in association with Ambassador Literary Agency, Nashville, TN.
Some Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.
Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.
The Midwife is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Petersheim, Jolina.
The midwife / Jolina Petersheim.
pages ; cm
ISBN 978-1-4143-7935-7 (sc)
1. Midwives—Fiction. 2. Mennonites—Fiction. 3. Single women—Fiction. 4. Christian fiction. I. Title.
PS3616.E84264M53 2014
813'.6—dc23 2014005592
ISBN 978-1-4143-9600-2 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-4143-8461-0 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-4143-9601-9 (Apple)
Build: 2014-05-09 12:25:35
In memory of our unborn child, whom we will hold again, and to all those who have lost. May you receive beauty for ashes.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part One Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Cha
pter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part Two Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part Three Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Preview of The Outcast
About the Author
The Midwife Reading Group Guide Interview with the Author
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
How do you even begin to thank all those who have helped you put ink to paper?
Firstly, to my Tyndale team, composed of Karen Watson, Stephanie Broene, Kathy Olson, Maggie Rowe, Julie Dumler, Shaina Turner, and all those whom I might not interact with on a regular basis, but who make things run so smoothly behind the scenes: Thank you for believing in my rough-cut stories and for providing the tools to make them shine.
To my agent, Wes Yoder: Again, it’s been a privilege to work with you. Thank you for your wisdom and dependability during every step of the publishing and life journey. You have been such a blessing to me.
To my wordsmith-partners-in-crime, many of whom I have never even met but whom I still count as cherished friends: You all have gone above and beyond the call of duty to help my writing find its way into readers’ hands. Thank you, thank you; I want to be sure to offer that same helping hand when your books are birthed. We need this community more than ever before.
To my readers: Well, I could not be writing this if not for you. Thanks for giving a fledgling writer a chance and for offering your support through word-of-mouth, messages, and reviews. Each of you has become so very dear to me. I hope our paths cross in person soon.
To my midwife, Robin: From that winter night two years ago when I sprinted the fire-escape stairs of the birthing center to increase my contractions so I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital, to this recent fall morning I called you, sobbing, to tell you of the loss of our unborn child, you have been there for me. Thank you for your steadfast maternal love for those of us who are in the process of becoming mothers ourselves. You are a gift to womanhood, and I am honored to call you friend.
To my best friend, Misty: No acknowledgements would be complete without letting you know how dear you are to me. Though miles may separate us, we will forever remain neighbors and sisters in my heart.
To my parents and siblings, from both maiden Miller and married Petersheim sides: As the years pass, I no longer see a division between law and love. We have truly become one family. Thank you for the prayers, the laughter, and—yes—even the tears. We are so blessed to have you in our lives.
To my daughter, my Balm of Gilead, who is right now waking up in her crib: I pray that you will know in your heart that you have been cherished since conception. Rest assured in the fact that you are loved to the heights and to the depths, and that your father and I would go to both measures to protect you. Yet we know that before you were ours, you were his—your Creator’s. And so we daily entrust him with your precious life.
I would like to thank my gem of a husband, who—through hardship and triumph—has truly become my other, sometimes better, half. God sure knew what he was doing when he put your logical self into my zany life. Thanks for always being my first reader, and for being patient with me until I heed your thoughtful advice. I could not do any of this without you, nor would I want to try. I’ll love you forever.
Lastly, I thank my Creator for giving me the idea for The Midwife shortly after my own daughter’s birth, and for orchestrating the timing, so that I would begin the editorial process after the loss of our unborn child, when I needed to find healing through this panacea of story. Thank you for giving me strength to offer others hope. May they see your light reflected on every page.
Prologue
I saw you that day we came to Tennessee to take your daughter—and their daughter—back. The Fitzpatricks carried the child out to the rental car and placed her like a bundled heirloom in my arms. She was half-asleep and fragrant from her nap, and she yawned and cuddled right against my chest as if she had always been there. Thom and Meredith went back inside to gather the rest of her things, and that’s when you crossed the yard and looked at the car—and it seemed that you were looking right at me.
I could feel your eyes boring through the tinted glass and seeing the woman who had abandoned you holding tight to your child. I wanted to go to you. I hope you know this. I wanted to ask your forgiveness, but I was still too afraid. I could barely recognize you beneath your Plain clothes, and I could see in your bearing that you were stronger than before.
What if you hated me? You had every right. It was better not to know.
So I remained silent. I remained a coward. I locked the doors and kissed the child’s warm forehead. I pressed my back against the seat and breathed. I watched you walk up those porch steps like a lamb to the slaughter. Inside the house, I knew, you would learn that you would never see your daughter again. . . .
1
Beth, 1995
Nine minutes after the chapel bells heralded the first academic session, Dr. Thomas Fitzpatrick came into the department. His glasses were snow-spotted and the toggles of his peacoat off by one. Keeping my fingertips on the keyboard, I watched him walk the length of carpet down to his office. Then I looked at the computer screen. Winslow, Beth (1995), it read. Solomon’s Choice: Finding an Ethical Solution for Remorseful Surrogates. Master’s Thesis, Simms University. My heart beat double-time with the computer cursor’s pulse. From the cabinet, I took Thom’s favorite cup and saucer, poured water from the kettle on the hot plate, dolloped the PG Tips with cream, and carried it down the hall.
I pushed the door open farther and stood in the entrance, waiting. Located near the radiator, Thom’s office was humid. It smelled of thawing wool and frostbitten winter. Gold-embossed collector’s editions from Gray’s well-known Anatomy of the Human Body to the rare A Discourse upon Some Late Improvements of the Means for Preserving the Health of Mariners were stacked in teetering heaps throughout the room. From experience, I knew they were organized in a labyrinth only Thom could traverse.
Wall-to-wall shelves were bookended with souvenirs from Meredith’s and his trips overseas: an urn filled with pottery shards gathered from shores whose waters harbored a flooded Grecian city; a child-sized drum, its top stretched taut with buckskin; an aboriginal mask whose mouth gaped into a yawn. Despite these variegated treasures, the books were the only things Thom was particular about. The only things he did not want touched.
Thom had shed his coat. Beneath it, he wore the tweed blazer with the stamped brown buttons and worn leather patches on the elbows that always made him too hot during his animated lectures. His yellow scarf hung from the back of his swivel chair and coiled up on the floor. A cup and saucer with cream skimming the surface of yesterday’s tea sat like a paperweight on the notes scattered across his desk. Thom’s desk, the rolltop slid back, was centered beneath a rectangle window that was flush with the ground outside the basement offices and whose ledge was piled almost to the top with snow. This allowed just enough natural light to reveal the floating dust that permeated the air in the ancient brick building.
“Dr. Fitzpatrick?”
Thom’s head came up. His fountain pen paused on a note that, even after a year as his graduate assistant, I still could not decipher. Swiveling his chair to face me, he blinked, his great mind awakening from some cerebral dream. “Hello, Miss Beth,” he said. His British accent was distinct, even after twenty years in the States.
Crossing the room, I set the saucer beside the one I had brought yesterday and took one step back. Then I looked at the pennies glinting in my polished loafers and said, �
�I just came to tell you that . . .” I paused. “The second beta test doubled to 437. We still need an ultrasound to confirm the heartbeat. But it looks like you and Meredith . . .” The words faltered behind my smile. “You and Meredith are going to have a baby.”
“A baby?” Thom stared at me a moment—apparently captivated by the news we had so long anticipated—and then squinted at the calendar above his desk. I could see the date, circled in red, when my twenty-two-year-old uterus had received one grade A and two grade B fertilized embryos belonging to Thom and Meredith. “That’s wonderful. What are you—” he calculated the days by tapping his fingertips on his thumb—“fifteen days post transfer?”
I nodded.
“It will be around September, then?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “Mid-September.”
He said, “Meredith and I were married in September.” I had a hard time envisioning the woman, who had participated in the IVF with an air of martyrdom, as a younger, blushing bride. He continued, “You have any idea what it is?”
Even after the procedures that let me stand in my professor’s office with his child tucked inside my womb, the intimacy of our conversation felt wrong. He needed to be having this discussion with his wife, Meredith, who was already back at work, despite the surgery that had reset the reproductive schedule of the affluent Fitzpatrick lives.
“No idea,” I lied, when I already sensed a girl. “How’re you going to tell Meredith?”
“Not sure.” He sighed. “Take her out for dinner?” Thom was silent, contemplating this. Then he picked his glasses up and hooked them behind his ears. “A baby,” he repeated with that same whispered awe. The tortoiseshell frames pushed up on his cheeks as he smiled. “How’re you feeling?”
I ducked my head. “Really, Dr. Fitzpat—” My cheeks flushed. “Thom, I mean.” I dared to look up now that his glasses were in place; a barrier between us, transparent though it was. “I’m fine. I’ve done this before.”
The Midwife Page 1
