The Amish Midwife (41 page)

As I read her words, I wanted to throw the phone across the room. I wanted to scream at her, to say she was hiding behind the same lame excuse Marta had used. Fingers flying, I typed,
YOU WERE MY FRIEND. HOW ELSE CAN I TAKE YOUR SILENCE EXCEPT AS THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL?

After a long pause, her next text finally came:
I’m sorry. I talked to your father about it once, thinking you should know. He didn’t see that it would do you any good
.

Unwilling to accept her apology, I simply put down my phone and did not reply.

After a while my phone rang. It was Mrs. Glick. I let it go into voice mail and listened as soon as she was finished leaving the message. “Lexie, dear, we’re all so worried about you. Please come home,” her frail voice said.

All of them knew I was two when I was adopted. And Mama and Dad had lied all those years about my grandmother and mother loving me. If they had loved me, they would have kept me. Now, instead of a gentle handoff of an oblivious infant at the Philadelphia airport, I imagined
Mammi
shoving me into my parents’ arms, me a screaming two-year-old, and then rushing away. And Klara dusting her hands as she turned her back. And Giselle…I stopped. I didn’t even know what to imagine when it came to Giselle.

My phone beeped again. It was Sean. Everyone was weighing in today on my life except for James.

Sean’s text read:
On the train to Baltimore. The little girl in front of me is Asian. Probably Chinese, with a white family. Adopted, obviously. Made me think of you. She’ll probably never have the option of finding out her story. What if that were your case? Could you be happy? If so, then why not just let it go now, instead of driving yourself crazy?

I dropped my phone onto my pillow. He didn’t get it. I’d found people who knew my story. Even if the truth ended up being uglier than I had expected, they had no right to withhold it from me. For that matter, I wished that little girl on the train could have her story too. It wasn’t likely she’d ever get it, but she deserved it nonetheless. Just as I deserved mine.

Oh, why had I told James not to come? Suddenly, more than anything in the whole world, I just wanted him to be here with me, wrapped safely in his loving arms. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to call since we talked last night upset me more than I could have possibly imagined. I felt adrift, abandoned, floating alone in an icy sea.

I heard steps on the stairs and then Zed’s voice. “Lexie?”

My young cousin had been a huge help to me, but at the moment the sound of his voice made me cringe. I didn’t want an update on Burke Bauer or his wife Lavonne or the odd American woman living in Switzerland. Not now.

“There’s someone outside,” he said, his voice tentative. “He wants to see you.”

Oh, great. A patient’s husband, no doubt. Just what I needed. “Tell him to call your mom. Explain that she’s taken over the practice again.”

“It’s not anyone from around here,” he said, appearing at the end of my bed.

I swept my fingers under both eyes and reached for a tissue. “What does he want?”

Zed shrugged, eyeing me strangely.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. But he knew who I was. In fact, he seemed familiar with our whole family.”

I sat up, the skin on my arms prickling. “What do you mean?”

“He said he was here to see you, but he also asked for Mom, and he said he wants to round up everyone over at
Mammi
’s so we can get down to the heart of the matter, whatever that means. Do you want me to call Mom?”

I was off the bed instantly, tossing Zed my phone and then taking the stairs two at a time.

“James!” I called out as I rushed through the front door.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, smiling tentatively. Until I knocked him down.

Flat on his back, trying to raise his head with me on top of him, he gasped, “And I thought you might be mad.” He laughed and then pointed toward the front door of the cottage

I turned to look. Zed stood on the small porch, my open phone in front of his face.

“You’d better get off me,” James whispered, his green eyes dancing. “I think we’re being filmed.”

Zed used my phone to call his mom, and then rode with us to
Mammi
’s. I drove while James chatted away, asking Zed about himself. After a few minutes James turned his head toward the backseat and then glanced at me. “Boy,” he said. “You two look related.”

Zed and I both smiled.

“What?” James asked.

“I’m adopted too,” Zed explained.

“Oh, well. Guess there’s lots of blond hair and brown eyes in the family either way.”

I asked James what his plan was, admitting how shocked I was at his arrival. It wasn’t like me to agree to drive off somewhere without knowing exactly why.

“I have no idea if it will work or not, but it’s worth a try,” he said.

“What? What’s worth a try?” I turned off the main highway.

“Just a little session.”

“Like group therapy? Or family therapy, rather?” Inwardly, I groaned, thinking how very James-like of him to approach the situation this way.

“More like an intervention.”

This time my groan was audible. He grew silent, and when I glanced at him, I could see that he was both surprised and hurt by my reaction.

“Look,” he said, holding up both hands, “I know you find much of what you consider my ‘psychobabble’ tiresome, Lexie, but this is different.
This is for your sake. To find your story and settle all of this once and for all. That is what you really want, isn’t it?”

I turned down the lane, startled by the sternness in his voice and suddenly humbled by the truth of his words. He was right. Someone had to take charge and get everyone together and finally talking. More importantly, he knew that such a difficult and significant encounter would be unwise without an outside party present, one who had been trained in psychology.

To my mind, that person would also need to be someone who was intuitive and kind and safe. Someone truly special. I glanced again at James, knowing he was all of the above. Silently, for the first time ever, I thanked God that this man was exactly the way he was—psychobabble and all.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said simply, hoping that later I could more fully convey my gratitude.

The cows in the field ambled toward the white fence. Alexander stepped out of the barn and took off his hat. Marta had already arrived, and she and Ella were just climbing from their car as I pulled to a stop beside them. As we climbed out, Ella took a good look at James and then flashed me a broad smile.

Heart pounding, I ignored her, watching as James moved around the car to introduce himself to Marta. After exchanging names and handshakes, he motioned her aside, and much to my surprise she went willingly. Standing about ten feet away, the two of them spoke quietly together, their voices nearly inaudible. Seizing the opportunity, Ella moved in on me.

“Is that really James?” she whispered excitedly. “You didn’t say he was so
hot
. He’s even hotter than Sean! Are all the guys in Oregon that cute?”

I rolled my eyes, wishing she would be quiet so I could listen.

“Girls,”
Zed moaned under his breath, shaking his head at both of us.

Marta and James seemed to conclude their brief but private conversation, and then she turned toward me.

“Lexie, take James to meet
Mammi
. I’ll send Ada out and then try to talk to Klara. Ella and Zed, you go with Lexie and James.”

Without waiting for a reply, Marta turned and moved briskly toward the house. After I introduced James to Ella, the four of us headed up the walk in the same direction, though we weren’t moving nearly as fast. Alexander met up with us before we reached the turnoff to the
daadi haus
.

“Lexie,” he said, and then he nodded to Zed and Ella.

I introduced James to Alexander, who said hello and then looked away, kicking at the ground with his rounded-toe work boot. Each time I saw him, his shyness caught me by surprise.

“Marta went in the house to talk to Klara,” I explained.

Alexander glanced up at me. “I’d best go in there too, then.”

He started toward the back door and we followed, veering off toward the
daadi haus
at the split in the walkway.

As it turned out, Ada was already there, sitting near
Mammi
, who was lying back in her recliner chair, eyes closed, resting. Ada stood as we came inside, a smile overtaking her face. Her color looked much better as she stepped toward us, hugging each one and then graciously welcoming James in a hushed voice.

“Ada, who is it?”
Mammi
asked, opening her eyes and trying to sit up.

“It’s family,” Ada replied, giving me a wink.

We approached
Mammi
’s chair so that I could introduce James, but before I even spoke, the door swung open and Klara came rushing into the room.

“Out!” she cried. “Everybody out!”

“Klara…” Alexander was right behind her, followed by Marta.

Klara had a dishtowel over her shoulder and a wooden spoon in her hand. Her face was red, and a strand of sandy hair had come loose from her cap.

“Out!
Now
!” she snarled.

Ada stepped in front of me, protesting, as
Mammi
struggled to sit up in her chair. I spoke as well, as did the others, our voices all clamoring to be heard.

“Klara!”
Mammi
’s voice rang out, sharper and louder than all the rest, cutting through the din. Silenced, we all turned toward the older woman, who had managed to get the recliner to the down position and was sitting tall, her cap askew and her white hair poking out from underneath it. “Please stop. This has gone on too long.”

“You need to let things be,” Klara replied, standing with her feet apart, hands gripping both ends of the wooden spoon. Though her eyes were on her mother, I knew she was speaking to everyone in the room.

“We just want the truth,” Ada said gently, stepping forward.

Klara looked around at each of us, terror and betrayal shining clearly in her eyes.

“I won’t be a part of this,” she hissed. “Alexander, Ada. Come.” Klara stepped around Marta and moved toward the open doorway.

I watched, heart in my throat, as Alexander remained exactly where he was, looking down at his boots, his hat in his hands, fingers kneading furiously at the brim. I turned to look at Ada, and satisfaction surged in my chest as I realized she had chosen to remain stubbornly in place as well.

Clearly noting the lack of movement behind her, Klara glanced over her shoulder when she reached the door, her face twisted into a scowl. There, she faltered in surprise that neither husband nor daughter were following orders.

“Klara, I am not Alexandra’s biological father,” Alexander blurted out suddenly.

Klara spun around to face her husband, her cheeks flushing an even brighter red, though whether from anger or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure.

“Same old song,” Klara barked. “I don’t care how many times—”

“It’s different now,” he interrupted. “There’s actual proof. Medical proof.”

Klara jerked her head back, clearly shocked. She took a deep breath and held it, suddenly looking at me for confirmation. Technically, Alexander was overstating things a bit, so I tried to qualify his words by being more precise.

“I had my DNA tested. Until Alexander also is tested, we won’t know if he is my father or not. But what we do know for sure, so far at least, is that Ada and I are siblings. Full siblings. She’s my sister.”

Klara’s face went white, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no words came out. Before she could find her voice, Ada spoke.

“I was tested as well. The doctor said the DNA proves it. Without question, Lexie and I are sisters.”

Our words had a strange effect on Klara. She exhaled slowly, her face growing pale, her jaw slack. She looked from her daughter to her husband to her sister, the spoon slipping from her hands and landing with a soft plop on the braided rug. No one moved to pick it up. Finally, she turned again toward Alexander.

He met her shocked gaze with confidence, his shoulders squared. As
they stared at each other, it was as if he stood taller than I had ever seen him. The slumping was gone, the averted eyes were no longer trained toward the floor. Even his fingers had stilled along the brim of the hat.

“I have told you this all along, Klara,” he said, his voice even and deep. “You chose not to believe me, but Giselle and I were never involved, never intimate. There was no way Lexie could have been mine.”

Klara tried to reply but nothing came out. Clearing her throat, she tried again, rasping, “But Giselle named the child Alexandra. Why would she have used that name unless the babe was yours?”

Mammi
sat forward as if to speak, but Klara cut her off.

“I wasn’t stupid,” Klara continued, her voice growing stronger as she railed at her husband. “I saw how you looked at Giselle, the way she flirted with you. I caught the two of you whispering together more than once. She wouldn’t tell anyone who the baby’s father was, yet she named it after you. What other conclusion could I have drawn? Did you both think I was an idiot?”

Again,
Mammi
tried to speak, but she had become so worked up that all she could do was sputter and cough instead. As Ada and Ella jumped to her aid, James addressed the whole lot of us.

“Why don’t we all calm down, have a seat, and do this the right way?” he asked in a voice so soothing that everyone seemed compelled to do exactly as he suggested. Even Klara obeyed, watching warily as Zed and Alexander rounded up three straight-back chairs from the rest of the small house and brought them to the living room. Once
Mammi
had recovered from her coughing fit, we all sat, with Klara, Marta, and Alexander taking the chairs, James and I on the couch with Ada next to me, and Ella and Zed seated on the floor. After we were settled, we looked to James to learn what would come next, and again I was deeply grateful for his presence.

“I think before we go any further, we should just pause for a moment and take all of this to the Lord in prayer,” he said, his voice still soothing and warm. We bowed our heads, and though I expected him to pray aloud, instead he remained silent beside me as was the Amish custom. Though my brain was too frazzled to pray myself, by the time he said a gentle “amen” a minute or so later, the quiet and focus had served to calm me significantly. It seemed to have done the same for everyone.