“Simon!” he yelled. “Let’s go!”
Simon didn’t ask where they were going. He knew.
As they headed toward her home, Logan’s heart pounded with fear.
• • •
The contractions were growing harder, and Mr. Lemon had not yet regained consciousness. The tree limb was massive. In spite of the hole it had driven through the cellar door, the remaining part of the door was held tight by its weight. She had struggled with trying to shove it open, but she’d managed only to make her contractions worse. She was terrified of what might happen if she did not get out of here, and soon.
Adam and Carrie had both been born after a very short labor. Her mother had teased her that most women would be jealous of the easy time she had. She had been grateful to be spared the agony she knew some women experienced, but right now, she wished she could be one of those women. Otherwise, unless God intervened, there was a very good chance she would have to give birth on this muddy floor with only Carrie and Adam to help her. She shuddered at the thought.
“Mr. Lemon?” The contraction eased up for a moment and she leaned over and patted his face with her hand. “Please wake up, Mr. Lemon. I need you.”
• • •
“There.” Simon pointed and Logan slammed on the brakes. The area around Hope’s home had changed so drastically that he barely recognized it. He jumped out of the car and tried to take it all in.
Hope’s house was gone. The barn was gone. There was no horse. No buggy. Some of the fence posts that had once graced the property and the barbed wire fencing was tangled in the tops of some young trees. Several older, larger trees had been uprooted and lay tossed upon the ground. Her next-door neighbor’s house had disappeared.
There was no sign that an Amish woman or her children had ever lived here.
“Do you hear that?” Simon put one hand behind his ear.
“Hear what?”
“That,” Simon said. “It’s really faint, but I think I hear a child crying.”
Logan held his breath and listened. He heard it, too. Was his mind playing tricks on him?
“Over there!” Simon pointed. “Look!”
It was Carrie. She was crawling out from beneath the tangle of some giant trees. Her Kapp was gone, her hair hung in tangles, her face was smeared with dirt and tears, and her little dress was torn—but she was alive.
“Carrie!” Logan ran to her and gathered her up in his arms, kissing her tear-stained face, overcome with gratitude. “Where are Mommi and Adam?”
His heart stood still when she pointed at the massive tree from beneath which she had just crawled. Hope and Adam were beneath that?
“Hope?” he yelled. “Can you hear me?”
“Logan!” Hope screamed. “Get us out! Please! Get us out!”
He could hear Adam crying out in fear now, from the sound of terror in his mother’s voice. It would take something terrible for Hope to scream like that with a child beside her. She must be hurt.
Using their bare hands and a broken two-by-four, he and Simon managed to pry away enough of the broken cellar door to pull Adam through. Then Simon, with his scarecrow build, lowered himself into the hole and lifted Hope up until Logan was able to grasp and pull her out.
• • •
“Thank God you’re okay,” he kept repeating as he pulled her into his arms. “I thought I had lost you. Thank God you are okay.”
The moment she felt his strong arms around her, she knew that she was safe. Finally she was safe. She clung to him, her face pressed tightly against his chest. The very scent of his body gave her a feeling of security. The knowledge that she didn’t have to be strong anymore washed over her. Logan was here. Logan would take care of her. She could melt into his arms and let the contractions come. Logan would see that she got the help she needed. As he held her, half-kneeling on the sodden ground, it seemed as though he were trying to shelter her with his own body against any more pain.
“I knew you would come for me.” She said it over and over. “I knew you would come for me.”
Then she felt another great pain grip her belly, stronger this time, and she writhed with the intensity of it.
“What’s wrong, Hope?” There was panic in his voice. “Where are you hurt?”
She could not answer him. She held her breath until the contraction eased.
He helped her to her feet. “I’m taking you and the children straight to the hospital!”
“No.” She drew a deep breath. “You passed Levi and Grace’s place on your way here. Is the birthing clinic intact?”
“Yes. Levi and Grace were outside.”
“Good.” She gasped. “Please, Logan. Take me there!”
“Is the baby coming?”
Another contraction hit and all she could do was nod and bend over until it passed.
He helped her walk toward the car. “How long have you been having contractions?”
“Too long.” She panted. “I think there may be little time . . . please . . . take me to Grace. Then get Mr. Lemon to the hospital. I think he may have a concussion.”
“Simon!” Logan shouted. “I’m taking Hope to the birthing clinic.”
Simon poked his head up out of the cellar. “Her neighbor is waking up. I think he needs a doctor.”
“Not as badly as she needs a midwife. Stay with him. I’ll be back soon.” He tried to help her walk to the car, but another hard contraction hit and she could not move.
“Kids, get in the car. Hurry.” He swooped Hope up in his arms and deposited her on the front seat while the children tumbled into the back. “Mommy needs to visit cousin Grace’s.”
chapter TWENTY-SIX
Both Aunt Claire and Grace were standing outside inspecting the damage to the clinic’s yard when Logan pulled in.
“Hope is having her baby,” he yelled. “The contractions are coming fast!”
They came running, and within minutes they had helped her out of her muddy clothing, given her a quick sponge bath, put a clean nightgown on her, and covered her with a warm flannel sheet.
“Now you get to do the rest of the work,” Aunt Claire made a gentle joke. “Are you ready?”
Hope’s body answered with a primal desire to push. There was pain, and there was pressure, and she wished with all her heart that Titus were there with her . . . but God was good. He had provided her with two women who cared about her to help her through the next intense minutes. She knew that she and her baby would be fine with Grace and Claire watching over them. She knew Adam and Carrie would be fine with Logan watching over them. Her heart sang with gratitude as her brand-new baby girl entered the world.
• • •
“How are you feeling?” Logan brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. “I hear you have another beautiful daughter.”
She opened her eyes and roused from the dreamlike state of relief in which she had been floating. Her new baby had been born healthy and safe in one of Grace and Claire’s fresh, clean birthing beds instead of on a muddy cellar floor.
“Where are Adam and Carrie?” she asked.
“I took them to your mother’s. I’ll go get them whenever you want.”
“Not yet. Is Mr. Lemon okay?”
“Levi drove him to the hospital while you were having the baby. We’ve not heard anything yet.”
“He saved our lives, Logan.” She grasped his hand. “That old man saved our lives.”
“I know. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”
“Have you seen her?” she asked.
“I have. I made the acquaintance of that little lady while she was getting her first bath. From all the racket, I am pretty sure she was not happy about it.”
“Thank you for taking care of us.”
“Not a problem.” He straightened the sheet. “Have you given the baby a name yet?”
“Esther Rose.”
“Esther Rose Schrock.” He said the name slowly, testing the sound. “I like that very much. Let me g
uess. You decided to name her after Ivan’s mom and your own mother.”
“I did.”
Their eyes locked, and the intimacy of having him sitting here beside her made her heart beat faster.
“Do we have a farm left?” she asked.
“The house and land are still there. We can replace the rest.”
“Are my chickens gone?”
“We’re still finding a few here and there that are still alive. I don’t know chickens very well, but these seem a bit nervous. Oh, and your buggy horse managed to somehow find shelter. Simon caught him and rode him to our barn. The buggy is gone, though.”
“When I get my strength back, I’ll start to rebuild.”
“And when you get your strength back,” he said, “I’ll help.”
“Are you still leaving for New York tomorrow?”
“Yes, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, take good care of Esther Rose.”
As he left, Hope felt such a strange mixture of emotions. Happiness that her delivery was over and the baby was safe. Sadness that Titus had not lived to see his little girl. Happiness that Logan was returning to Holmes County permanently. Guilt about how happy she felt that Logan and Marla had broken up.
Her life was turning out to be so much more complicated than she had ever dreamed when she was a girl.
• • •
Marla had abandoned his apartment, but only after taking every stick of furniture out of it that she deemed worthy. That meant she took anything that had been crazy expensive. That also meant she had taken with her most of the uncomfortable, unattractive pieces that he had never liked. Left behind were his bed, a recliner she had frequently threatened to throw out, a comfortable old couch he kept in his office, and his desk, chair, and bookcases. Gone was every piece of art from the walls. Left behind was every first-edition book he had collected. Gone were all the crystal and designer dishes. Left behind were his good camera and his collection of antique writing pens. She had also taken the drapes—which made no sense because they were custom-made—but he was grateful. He had never liked those heavy things anyway.
The Realtor brought cleaners in after Marla got her things out, and painters, so the apartment looked bare, but pristine.
All in all, he was well satisfied.
His plan was to spend a few days signing papers, making the final arrangements for moving the few possessions he wanted to keep to his home in Holmes County, and dealing with financial and business issues.
He also wanted to have lunch with his long-suffering literary agent. They had kept only in loose contact these past eight months, and it was time to let Harry know that his advice to buy the house had been wise.
• • •
“Long time, no see.” His agent arrived at the restaurant they had agreed upon and took a seat across from him at a small table. “You’re looking well. How did your country idyll go?”
“Better than I expected.”
“Were you affected by that tornado that passed through your area yesterday?”
“Not badly.” Logan didn’t elaborate.
He knew that Harry would not be interested in the details of the tornado, or the last-minute rescue of Hope, or the birth of Esther Rose, or Mr. Lemon’s injuries. His agent would only be interested in those details if they were written in a saleable manuscript he could broker to a publisher.
“So.” Harry glanced at the menu and then laid it aside. “How is the writing going?”
Logan thought his agent sounded nervous. He also knew that he had given him ample reason to be. It felt nice to have good news.
“The last novel in the psychiatrist/stalker series is finished. A week more to polish it and I’ll email it to the publisher.”
“Your two-month extension was a help?”
“A great help. You were right. I was burned out.”
“Is the book any good?” Harry fingered his fork and didn’t look at him.
“I think so. It’s definitely better than the last two.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “And the drinking?”
Logan nodded at the pitcher of iced tea he’d had brought to the table instead of the wine he’d always ordered in the past. “It was a struggle at first. Now I rarely think about it.”
“Good!” Harry did not even try to hide his relief. “I’m almost afraid to ask if you have any new proposals for me to pitch.”
“I do, actually.” Logan reached for his briefcase and pulled out the manuscript of the war novel he’d started at the antiques shop. He laid the carefully typed pages on the table between them.
“You’re kidding,” Harry said. “No one uses hard copy anymore.”
“I do,” Logan said. “At least I did with this one.”
Harry lifted the top page of the manuscript and started reading while they waited to order lunch. Logan remained silent, wondering, waiting. His agent wasn’t always the most encouraging person in the world, but Harry knew good writing when he saw it.
Harry turned the first page facedown on the table and started reading the second page. Logan’s hopes rose. This was a very good sign. Someone as experienced as Harry could tell if a piece was saleable after just one paragraph.
He sipped his tea and waited. Harry kept reading. The waitress took their order, and his agent kept reading. When she brought their salads ten minutes later, Harry laid the page facedown on the pile he’d just finished and glanced up.
“This is not at all like anything you’ve written in the past.”
“I know.”
“This is a wartime love story.”
“It is.”
“People expect a very specific reading experience when they buy a Nate Scott novel and this isn’t it.”
“I know.”
“Publishers aren’t going to want to touch it.” His agent loosened his tie. “It would be like buying a Stephen King horror story and finding out you just bought Gone with the Wind.”
“I know.”
“You do realize you’re nuts for wasting your time on this. Right?”
Logan shrugged. “I don’t care.”
It was the first time he had ever seen his agent at a loss for words.
“Here’s the thing,” Logan said. “I’m not trying to sell a million copies of this novel. I’m just trying to make a few very special people happy—and the sooner the better. I’ll publish it under my real name, Logan Parker, instead of Nate Scott, so there will be no preconceived ideas. You can shop it around and take your fifteen percent or I can self-publish, have fifty copies made for my friends, and then let it drop out of sight. It doesn’t matter to me.”
His agent fidgeted with the dinnerware. “You know how good this book is, don’t you?”
“To tell you the truth,” Logan said, “I don’t really care.”
Harry sat back in his chair and gave him a long look. “Living in Amish country is changing you isn’t it?”
Logan broke apart a dinner roll. “You have no idea.”
• • •
After leaving his lunch with Harry, Logan elbowed his way through the after-lunch crowd in Manhattan, but all he could think about was how badly he missed Hope and the children. He even missed Simon. He was so homesick that he probably would have grabbed and hugged Agatha if she had walked by.
It was a different culture, a different place, and often felt like an entirely different world. No longer did he feel like he belonged here. He called home to check on Hope and Esther Rose, and Grace told him they were fine and staying with them at the clinic for another couple of days. He was relieved. Hope and the baby couldn’t be in a better place. He left word that if Hope and her children needed a place to live, they could use his place until they found something else. He’d rent a room somewhere.
He realized that he was as nervous about Esther Rose and her mother as a brand-new father, and he wasn’t the father, but he couldn’t help it. He’d lost his heart the moment he held that baby girl in his arms.
> His heart was so sick with longing for Hope, and her children, and the life he might be able to have with them, that he actually tried on the idea of becoming Amish.
He could rip out the electricity, buy a buggy, grow a beard, wear suspenders. He had lived in a nonelectric house for several months. He could do it again if it meant having her and her children in his life. He could easily endure a three-hour worship service twice a month if it meant having Hope and helping her raise those children.
He could easily imagine himself sitting on the front porch with Hope thirty or forty years from now, watching grandchildren play in the front yard, hosting church in his house, enjoying close friendships with these decent and gentle people.
In some ways, becoming Amish would be a relief. He longed for the faith he saw in their lives, their acceptance of God’s will. He longed for the decency and goodness he saw in Hope and her family. He admired the simplicity of their lives. If becoming a spiritual man involved studying the Bible, he could do that. If it involved praying daily, he could do that, too.
It wasn’t just Hope. It was a longing to belong to something bigger and better than himself that was drawing him to this decision.
Even if Hope did not want him . . . he wanted to belong to her people.
Everything within him wanted to jump in the car and go home, but his meeting to complete the sale of the apartment was tomorrow. There was no way he could leave before then. He was taking care of having dinner with his mother tonight, so there would be nothing keeping him from heading home the minute the papers were signed. He couldn’t wait.
• • •
“She is such a fine baby.” Thelma Schrock looked fondly into Esther Rose’s tiny face. “She looks like you, but I also see a bit of Titus there as well.”
It was the day after Esther Rose was born, and Hope was grateful to be able to recuperate at the birthing clinic for a few days. It was such a homey place. At the moment she was seated in a padded rocking chair in the kitchen, having a snack of ginger cookies with her mother-in-law and Grace.
“I’m so glad you won’t be working over at your father’s old place anymore,” Thelma said.
Fearless Hope: A Novel Page 23
