by Linda Byler
“Well, not really. I looked forward to each one, wondering if it would be a boy or girl, what it would look like, how much it would weigh. I was always happy with my babies.”
“Not Jason.”
“Yes, I was, Lizzie,” Mam said, becoming slightly perturbed, Lizzie could tell.
“He was homely-looking, you know that. And you cried in the bedroom, all by yourself, because he cried so much. I saw you.”
“Lizzie, with each baby you have, your motherly instincts become better. You become more relaxed, more focused on the baby’s needs and less and less on your own. That’s why it’s a good thing to just let God direct in your life, bearing children, learning through that to become more and more unselfish as time goes on. It is good for a woman to have children.”
Lizzie thought of the hospital and the grouchy nurses, her inability to nurse Laura, her overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. She had cried constantly, feeling as if she was washed overboard in stormy seas and would surely perish, all because of having had a baby. It was definitely not something she wanted to do ever again if she could help it.
“But then, what if I don’t have more children? What if I would be one of the first Amish women in the world to have only one? Does that mean God would be mad at me?”
“Ach, Lizzie, you make me tired. Sometimes I don’t know how to answer your questions.”
“So, you don’t know, right?”
“No, not really.”
“Look at Aunt Vera, in Ohio. She had two children, Leroy and Mary Ann. And I’m pretty sure she’ll go to heaven, Mam, as kindhearted as she is.”
Mam laughed. “Ach, yes, Lizzie. Vera is one person who had only two children. She had Leroy and Mary Ann and decided that’s enough of that. Bless her dear heart, I miss her. It’s time we go for a visit again. Did you know Homer bought a coal business now?”
“He did?” Lizzie said absentmindedly, still worrying with the baby subject.
“Well, if I do have more babies, I’m not going to the hospital. I didn’t like it there. That one nurse was so mean, and I still think that’s what got me started crying,” she said.
“Lizzie, I’ve been to the hospital many, many times, and I’ve never had a nasty or mean nurse. Are you sure it was as bad as you say it was? Maybe you were overly sensitive.”
Lizzie shook her head.
“Huh-uh, Mam. She scolded me terribly for laying Laura crossways on the bed. I’ll never forget how that only added to my feeling of being overwhelmed with the responsibility of a new baby. She made me feel as if I wasn’t fit to have a baby, which, I suppose, I wasn’t, because she wouldn’t nurse right.”
“Your next one might be so different, Lizzie. You know and have learned a lot with Laura. Stephen wants a little boy, and after that, you’ll want more. You’ll see.”
On her way back up the hill, Lizzie was glad Mam didn’t have better answers She couldn’t prove that having a large family instead of a smaller one was a rule enforced by God. Big families were just an Amish tradition, the same as her clothes.
But, if she was quite honest with herself, the traditions of the Amish—of the forefathers, as the ministers said—was not something she took lightly. She supposed a church was the same as a school. You had to have rules or else everybody would just go out and do their own thing. What sense of structure and order would there be otherwise?
Yes, she would continue to wear a black shawl and bonnet to church, to wear black shoes and stockings, to comb her hair sleek and flat, to light her propane gas lamp and trim the wicks. She would wash with a wringer washer propelled by a gas motor, keeping up the old traditions and way of life because she wanted to. She never really wanted to change. Never. She loved her way of life, and she wanted to do these Amish things. She loved belonging to a group of people who believed in the same order.
Not that she perfectly followed every tiny aspect of the rules and regulations. She was supposed to wear a shawl and bonnet wherever she went in the wintertime. Even to town, when she went shopping. But a large woolen shawl was quite cumbersome in a store, the trailing fringes sometimes knocking things down.
Once, a little English girl had been terrified by Mam’s shawl and bonnet, running to her mother and hiding. Lizzie had been embarrassed, knowing the little girl was not used to seeing someone dressed in all black, especially with a long flowing shawl. Lizzie just wore a sweater, or a coat and a bonnet only when it rained or was very cold. Most of the young women did the same.
Well, she would wait and see. She would pray about this matter of children and, like Mam, leave it to God. Perhaps she would come to want one more baby, in time, and never any more after that. She bet no one except God knew how she dreaded the thought of having another baby.
Maybe God keeps record of families in the Book of Life. Kind of a report card for mothers. If you have 14 children you get an A+, if you have 12 an A, and on down to an F for having only one. But still, with report cards you can get away with an F if it’s only in one subject, as long as you have A’s or B’s or even C’s in other areas. Perhaps if she was as kind as she could be to Stephen and would not say one nasty thing if he got a dog, or call his hunting gear junk, she would earn an A in that category. Then if she only had two children, she’d still pass.
All these thoughts were silly and unnecessary, Lizzie decided, especially if salvation was a gift and was handed down free of charge. This was about the most confusing thing ever. If salvation was so free, why did you have to bother to live right and plain and simple? Why couldn’t you go out and do exactly anything you wanted and never have to worry if anything was right or wrong?
How nice were you to your husband if you gave him all he wanted, but refused to have more children? What if he was much too kindhearted to tell you he wanted a baby boy more than anything? A childish, selfish girl who didn’t want any more babies would probably earn a grade lower than an F on her report card, maybe a G, if there was such a thing. Someday, when she had the courage to approach Stephen about this subject, she would.
Not too much time elapsed until Lizzie had a good opportunity to ask Stephen that very question. He was sitting on the front porch, relaxing after his shower, tired from the day’s work, and glad to have the company of his wife and baby daughter. Lizzie settled beside him, and he reached for Laura, who gurgled happily and nestled against his shoulder. He patted her little bottom and smiled at Lizzie.
“She’s growing so fast. Can you believe she’s nine months old?”
“I know,” Lizzie said tightly.
“Is she crawling all over the place?”
“Not really all over the place. She doesn’t like the hardwood floor in the living room. It’s too slippery, and she flops down on her stomach and yells as loud as she can.”
“She’s some Maidsy,” Stephen said, grinning.
Maidsy was the pet name they used for Laura, and she recognized the word, lifting her head and looking at them when they said it.
Without warning, Stephen said, “About time for another one.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
Lizzie’s heart jumped, flipped, then resumed beating normally, only a bit faster.
“You think so?” she breathed.
“Oh, yes! I’d love to have a little boy. An Andy!”
Lizzie swallowed, then looked away from Stephen, out over the hilltop, down to the tree line by the creek. For once in her life, she had absolutely nothing to say.
There it was. Stephen, Mam, God, and the Bible were all on one side, and she was on the other. She was pretty sure Emma and Mandy would stick with that first group of people and tell her the same thing Mam did. Men wrote the Bible, not women.
She knew what Mam would say about that, too. It wasn’t humans that wrote the Bible, it was the Holy Spirit. It was inspired by God, so really, those men, Malachi, David, Peter, John, all of them, were only vessels God used to write things he wanted everyone to know.
She may as well forget arguing about any of
that.
“You’re not saying anything, Lizzie,” Stephen said gently.
“No. I’m not.”
Her words were sharp, a bit too loud, and very certain.
“Why not?”
“I … I … Stephen, we don’t want another baby!” she burst out.
“Not ever?”
“No!”
She got up, flounced into the house, and sat heavily on the sofa, feeling more miserable than she could ever remember. Why did everyone have to be so mean? Now Stephen, yet! At least Mam could be on her side if Stephen wasn’t. She was surprised to hear the front door opening. Stephen came in and sat beside her, handing Laura to her.
“Lizzie, don’t be upset. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Those were tender words, coming from Stephen, and they melted her heart into tiny little droplets that formed into real tears as she turned to him gratefully.
“I’m not upset, really. I just … well, I need a bit of time to think this thing through. I wish I would like babies better, and I wish I was a better mother, and I wish the Bible would say more about babies,” she said, tearfully.
“The Bible doesn’t spell things out in black and white, Lizzie. We have to figure out what makes us feel right with God and what doesn’t. We have choices.”
That statement from Stephen held a wealth of peace for Lizzie. Why, of course! He was so right. It was so simple and uncomplicated and worry-free! You could soon tell whether you had made a wrong or a right choice, simply by the way your conscience bothered you. She had often experienced that in her life.
So Lizzie calmed down and forgot about her anxiety at the prospect of having another baby. She figured she’d let the whole thing up to God. Like a heavy backpack strapped to her back, she loosened it and left it by the wayside for God to pick up and take care of.
The next morning, Lizzie was walking down the hill with Laura when she met Dat coming from the barn, his face lighting up at the sight of them.
“Hello, there! How’s our Maidsy?” he asked, grinning happily, and then stumbled on an uneven patch on the driveway. He fell heavily on his side as his legs gave way beneath him.
Lizzie rushed to his side.
“Dat! Oh, my word, Dat! Are you all right?” she asked, as she retrieved his straw hat from where it had rolled.
Grunting, Dat turned over and sat up, shaking his head in dismay.
“I’ll be all right. Just give me a hand.”
Setting Laura on the grass, Lizzie hurried over to grasp his hands, alarmed at the amount of strength it took to pull him up. For a terrifying moment she thought she wasn’t able to, and they would both fall heavily back down on the gravel.
Standing straight again, Dat gave a low laugh.
“Ach my, this M.S. is about as hard on my will as anything I’ve ever seen. I don’t have a choice. Suddenly, without warning, my brain doesn’t tell my legs to do what I want them to, and bang! Down I go!”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Nope, don’t have a choice. God decided to give me multiple sclerosis, and here I am. I gotta deal with it.”
He sighed, looking off into the distance.
“I don’t know what the future holds, but I know God will help me handle it. Me and Annie.”
He said this with so much pride in his beloved wife, and with so much courage and assurance that God would be there, that Lizzie felt inspired to the core of her being. Surely, if Dat could handle this dreaded disease, this loss of muscle control that would steadily worsen, she could give up enough of her own will about having a family.
Dat’s eyes were very blue and kind as he looked at Laura.
“She still looks like she’s been in the sun too long. She’s the cutest little thing. Bring her in and we’ll have a piece of shoofly pie, Lizzie.”
Lizzie loved Dat with all her heart. If Dat could look at his grim future with that much confidence, couldn’t she? She was, after all, his daughter. Slowly Lizzie was softening her grip on her own determination to have only one baby.
Chapter 23
AND SO, ONE GLAD day in August, little Andrew Lee was born at a midwife’s home-birthing center in Jefferson County. The midwife and her unmarried sister were Amish. Mam was a bit unenthusiastic about the prospect of having Lizzie go there, but Lizzie maintained her aversion to a hospital, telling Mam there was no use arguing, she simply was not going back to the hospital.
Stephen had his wish, a baby boy named Andy, and his smile was wide and genuine for a long time after Andy entered the world. Lizzie was a bit disappointed, surprised at the sight of her little boy. Laura had been so adorable, with dark skin and a nice amount of hair, but Andy was very white with only a bit of hair on top of his head. She didn’t say anything about it, of course, especially not to Stephen, but Andy just wasn’t very cute.
It was a great consolation to think of Jason, her brother. He was about the homeliest baby she had ever seen. Now, as a teenager, he was so handsome with his curly brown hair and crinkling blue eyes.
Mary and Barbara Swarey, the midwives, were the exact opposite of that grouchy nurse at the hospital. They were quiet, encouraging, and often smiling. They held little Andy for no reason at all, except because they wanted to hold him. That was so inspiring to Lizzie, because he wasn’t really a cute baby. Mary would come to Lizzie’s room, wrap Andy warmly and securely in a fuzzy blue blanket, then sit down in the little wooden, armless rocking chair and rock him, all the while talking to Lizzie about babies and children and life in general.
Oh, it was truly the greatest blessing to be there, and Lizzie valued every hour she spent with the midwives. At night, when Andy would become restless and cry, one of them would appear like some magical person in a light-colored housecoat with a white scarf tied around her head and quietly murmur to the baby. She expertly scooped him up and took him away, cuddling and consoling him as she went. Lizzie drifted off into another few hours of blissful slumber.
Sometimes they brought him to be fed and then stayed to help her. They arranged the pillows, quietly encouraging her, telling her over and over to relax and hold her baby gently, until she had truly mastered this hopelessly difficult art of breast-feeding.
It was the most wonderful, rewarding feeling to know she was quite adept at feeding her baby. He would burp soundly and go right off to sleep, warm and contented, trusting her for all his needs. It was so different from Laura’s birth, this feeling of accomplishment. She had a newfound confidence that taking care of this baby was something she would be perfectly able to do.
When one of Mary’s girls brought her supper tray, Lizzie opened her eyes wide as a smile of appreciation spread across her face. On the tray were two large yellow ears of corn, perfectly cooked, with a small dish of salad full of sliced tomatoes, carrots, and other fresh vegetables from Mary’s garden. Alongside was a thick slice of homemade oatmeal bread and a small dish with a pat of bright yellow butter made from the cream of their own cow. There was also a small glass dish of golden honey from the midwives’ own beehives down by their orchard, which Lizzie thought was simply the most extraordinary thing she had ever heard of.
When Lizzie began to eat, she wished there were two slices of bread on her tray and two more ears of corn. Salad wasn’t very filling, but then Mary and Barbara ate healthily and weren’t overweight. They knew that good nutrition without a lot of unnecessary calories was the best for a nursing mother, especially when she tended to be on the heavy side the way Lizzie was.
After Lizzie had eaten everything, Barbara brought a pretty glass dish piled high with ice-cold chunks of watermelon. The fruit was delicious. So good, in fact, that Lizzie resolved to turn her own dry, little hilltop garden into a garden just like Mary’s. She would plant plots of herbs and teas and have different flowers and vegetables all growing in neat squares, one complimenting the other like pictures of gardens in seed catalogs.
She even wanted a cow to make her own butter. She would ask Stephen to get a few hives o
f bees, and she would get the recipe to make this light, spongy, oatmeal bread. She had, quite simply, never been as inspired to eat healthy things and grow them in her own backyard as she was now with this supper tray.
That evening Stephen brought Laura to meet baby Andy. She was not quite two years old, and her eyes were very large and scared as Stephen carried her into Lizzie’s room. She had gotten carsick on their trip across the mountain. Stephen had cleaned her up as best he could, which tugged at Lizzie’s heart. Laura was so brown and smelled bad and was so afraid, seeing her mother in such a strange place. Mam walked behind Stephen, barely able to conceal the urgency she felt to see the new baby boy.
Lizzie reached for Laura, but she turned her face away and clung to Stephen.
“Maidsy!” Lizzie said pleadingly. Laura turned her head a tiny bit so that she could peep out with one eye from her position on Stephen’s shoulder.
Mam picked up Andy, whom she had finally found in the little wooden crib, and was delightedly pulling on the blankets, trying to have a better view of his face.
“Oh, my goodness!” she chuckled, laughing the way she always did when she saw a new baby for the first time.
“Ach, my! Isn’t he cute, Lizzie? Why, he’s about the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed, clearly enamored of this pale little grandson.
Lizzie’s heart was filled with gratitude.
“Do you think he’s cute, Mam? Really?”
“Why, of course!”
She said this as if there was absolutely no question that anyone would ever think he was a homely baby. Why, of course he was cute with those adorable big blue eyes and that wispy hair which would grow in thick and blond. Mam laughed and laughed, her stomach shaking the way it always did, as she unwrapped Andy, checking him fully from head to toe, while Stephen held Laura and peered over her shoulder and laughed with her.
Stephen liked Mam. He always had. Lizzie thought it was very nice to have her husband like her mother. Weren’t there a whole pile of mother-in-law jokes around? They didn’t apply to Mam and Stephen, which always made Lizzie feel secure and happy.