A Simple Charity

by Rosalind Lauer

  Meg simply nodded, realizing it was a waste of breath to praise Fanny’s efforts. Taking credit would be a gesture of pride, which the Amish censured. Still, Meg was beginning to understand the ebb and flow of Amish conversation: the tug of humility that gave way to the expression of joy in the simple things. And then that joy was once again tempered by humility and acceptance of God’s will. Humble and Plain. Such was the enigmatic grace of Amish culture.

  In the early hours of the morning, they succeeded in rotating the baby.

  “Good,” Fanny said, stroking back Kat’s damp hair. “It will be much easier for you now.”

  “Let’s try to keep you leaning forward,” Meg advised. “We don’t want the baby to revert to its original position.” She checked the fetal heart tones with every contraction, assuring Kat that the baby was descending quickly now.

  With the baby turned, Kat’s labor moved more rapidly. Everyone breathed a sigh of gratitude when a baby girl was delivered at 5:04 A.M.

  While Fanny tended to Kat, Meg saw that the baby needed resuscitation. Secondary apnea, she thought as adrenaline shot through her. Instantly awake and alert, she grabbed the bulb syringe and oxygen tank, as well as towels that had been warming on the woodstove.

  “Come on now,” Meg cooed to the baby as she rubbed her back. “You’re here at last, and we’re going to keep you safe and warm. And your mom is eager to meet you, baby girl.” She could feel Fanny and Kat watching in wary silence.

  After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the baby gave a squall and the heartbeat was on pace. Her color was good and she became active. “That’s what I was looking for.” Meg soothed the tiny baby swaddled in a warm towel and blanket. “That’s right. All pinked up. That’s it, sweetie.”

  “Thank the Almighty, she’s awake at last,” Fanny said with a sigh.

  Meg went to release Jack from his kitchen confinement, but he was already on his feet. “You got a baby out there? All good?”

  “It’s all good.” Lulled by relief and pleasure, Meg took him by the hand and led him out to meet his new niece.

  As sunlight touched the winter sky, casting a silvery glow over the frozen landscape, they sat around Kat’s cot, sharing coffee and hot rolls that Elsie had baked in the house. Kat was treated to a tray of scrambled eggs, sausage, rolls, and canned peaches—a true feast!—which Fanny insisted any new mother had earned. Meg smiled as Kat dug in with enthusiasm, finishing every scrap while she admired the infant sleeping in Jack’s arms.

  “You know how you couldn’t think of a Christmas gift for me?” Jack told Meg. “You’re off the hook now. You just delivered the perfect gift. Because I am in love with this baby girl.”

  “She is amazing,” Meg agreed.

  “Remember that feeling when it’s time for you guys to babysit,” Kat teased them.

  It was a wonder, the sight of Jack with the baby. For a thirty-one-year-old bachelor, a man who’d been eager to run from his laboring sister, Jack was very much at home with an infant in his arms. The copacetic image reminded Meg of the prickly news she had yet to deliver to him. She vowed to tell him about her medical issue. She would tell him this week—but not today.

  Today was bright with celebration, with new life and newly forged bonds and glittering snow confetti beyond the window of the former carriage house.

  Jack had sent a text to Kat’s husband, and now he was able to connect to Brendan so that Kat could do a video chat.

  “Hey, there, Daddy,” Kat said, levering the phone so that Brendan could see the rosebud mouth of the baby in her arms. “Meet your little girl. Baby Abigail.”

  PART FOUR

  In His Footsteps

  Yea, all of you be subject one to another,

  and be clothed with humility:

  for God resisteth the proud,

  and giveth grace to the humble.

  —1 PETER 5:5

  29

  Humming a song, Fanny traipsed through the backyard, grateful for the dawning light that turned the sky pearl gray. In one hand she held the wooden platform of the birdhouse, which she had just scrubbed clean with disinfectant. In the other was a sack of seed, which needed to be added daily. It was a chore that the children often forgot to do, but Fanny didn’t mind. Local birds had discovered the new birdhouse quickly, and the small effort of putting out sunflower seeds and millet was worth the joy of glancing out the kitchen window to see mourning doves, chickadees, titmice, and dark-eyed juncos land in the little house.

  Fanny found joy in the routine of small chores and simple pleasures. The pleasure of clean clothes at the end of wash day. The savory smell of a warm stew bubbling on the stove. A cozy night spent with the family, heads bent over a jigsaw puzzle, fingers working pieces to find the right fit. Whenever she longed for Zed or worried about what some of the other women thought of her, she had only to turn to the task at hand, the child at her side, the adult child telling her a story of their day. Family was the meat and potatoes of a good Amish life, and she thanked Gott for blessing her with a full plate.

  She slid the platform into the base of the birdhouse, reached into the sack, and scattered seed inside the miniature carriage house. What a lovely gift it had been, a way to feed Gott’s creatures and enjoy nature in their own backyard.

  A daily reminder of Zed’s fine building skills.

  Despite her shame, she had not been able to push him from her thoughts these past few weeks. She found herself wondering about him throughout each day. Did he still wear the gloves she had given him? What was his new daily schedule? Was he enjoying his work for Tim Ebersol? Did he think of her, too?

  He had told her that he wouldn’t give up on her—a promise branded deep in her memory, but not a practical one. It was obvious that there was a lot of matchmaking going on. Fanny was sickened at the prospect of Zed being pushed toward other women, but as there was nothing she could do to stop it, she had to let it go … geh lessa.

  She brushed off her gloved hands and lifted the seed sack. “There you go, little birds,” she called, though there were none in sight. She had no doubt they’d be congregating by breakfast, when Will would be at the window, helping his sister tell the difference between a goldfinch and a titmouse. This birdhouse had engaged the whole family, sending Caleb and Elsie paging through Tom’s old birding guide.

  She stomped her boots on the mat in the mudroom, and stowed the seed in the cupboard. Off came the boots and gloves, and her jacket went on a hook by the door. A cloud of warm air greeted her when she opened the kitchen door, and her two girls smiled up at her from the kitchen table, their faces tipped up like sunflowers.

  “Elsie made my favorite oatmeal,” Beth said. “No raisins.” Little Beth was at the stage where she didn’t like raisins or nuts inside things.

  “There’s more on the stove,” Elsie offered.

  “That sounds good.” Fanny gave a playful tug on Beth’s braid, then glanced up at the kitchen calendar. January was passing slow as molasses, but maybe that was because the anniversary of Tom’s death was approaching. Odd to mark someone’s passing, but Fanny had begun to look at it as a day that the family could remember Tom and remind the children of the love and light their father had brought to the family.

  With a bowl of oatmeal in hand, Fanny joined the girls and listened as Elsie talked of how much of the shop’s inventory had sold out over Christmas. She had already spoken to some of the women who supplied Amish crafts for the stores. “Over the holidays we sold out of cloth dolls and lavender soap,” Elsie said. “Some of our shelves are bare.”

  Beth finished and hopped down from her chair.

  “Put your bowl in the sink and go get dressed,” Fanny prompted gently.

  With a cloth doll tucked under one arm, Beth cleared away her bowl and skated across the kitchen floor in her slipper socks.

  “Such a dreamer, that one,” Fanny said, gazing up at the calendar once more. In eight days, it would be one year. Tom’s seat at the head of the table still
remained empty during meals, and no one was in a rush to change that.

  “I see you looking at the calendar, every time you pass,” Elsie said.

  “Do I do that?” Fanny dared to meet Elsie’s eyes, and was warmed by the glimmer of sympathy there. “Ya, I’m always checking now.”

  “January. I thought I never wanted to see this month come again, but now that it’s here …” Elsie shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I forgot how cozy the winter months could be. It’s fun to take the children out in the snow, sledding and ice-skating. And the best part of the cold is warming up by the fire with hot cocoa and the little ones.”

  “You always do see the sunny side of things.” Fanny dragged a golden streak of melted brown sugar across her oatmeal. It was delicious, but sorrow made her appetite sag. “I have dreaded this month and the memories it brings. Gott has healed us in many ways, but we will always miss your father.”

  Elsie nodded. “So many memories of Dat linger.”

  His loss had created a hole in the world that had seemed impossible to fill, a hole that Fanny had found herself jumping over constantly. In the first few months, she had winced when she made Tom’s side of the bed each morning or passed his empty place at the head of the table. But Gott eased the pain, day by day.

  “We’ll never understand why Gott took him,” Fanny said softly. “All we can do is thank Gott that we have family to fill our days with joy and challenge.” The little ones kept her busy and amused while the older ones constantly took little Tommy from her arms for a diaper change or a snuggle.

  “The day of the accident, Dat told me some things I’ll never forget.” Elsie cupped her coffee mug in two hands. “We were standing outside the Reading Terminal Market, and I wanted to talk about my big plans for the shop, but Dat kept pulling the conversation back to talk of marriage. He so wanted me to marry and have children.”

  “It’s what every father wants for his children.”

  Elsie took a sip from her mug and gazed off with a tender smile. “I never told anyone, but I had given up on ever marrying. I was afraid to have children, so I bowed out of every singing. I always had a reason to miss the youth events. Dat knew that.”

  “Thomas didn’t miss much,” Fanny agreed. Although Fanny hadn’t discussed it with Tom, she had always worried about Elsie finding a man who would love her, on account of Elsie looking different from other girls, being a little person.

  “Dat was so sure that a fella would come courting. ‘Just give it a chance,’ he told me.” Elsie shook her head. “I had no plans of doing that, but Dat was certain a young man would fall for my sunny disposition if I just gave it a chance. He was positive someone would see past the ways I’m different. He believed I would be having my own family one day. Standing there, outside the market, I looked up at him, so sure that he was wrong.” Tears glimmered in Elsie’s eyes. “It turned out, Dat knew what he was talking about.”

  “Your dat had faith in Gott’s plan for you.” Hearing Tommy fuss from the front room, Fanny retrieved him from his playpen and settled him on the kitchen floor with a pot and wooden spoon.

  “What’s all that about?” Elsie asked the baby, kneeling on the floor beside him. “Are you going to do some cooking?” She put the spoon in the pot and stirred.

  Rising to his feet in a wobbly stance, Tommy watched her with rapt attention.

  “Here. You do it.” Elsie offered him the spoon.

  Tommy clutched it and pointed it at the pot. He had to bend his knees a bit to reach the pot, but when he did he grinned with satisfaction at the clanging noise.

  The two women laughed, and Fanny felt a tug of pleasure at the prospect of Elsie having children of her own. Elsie had not mentioned marriage yet, but Fanny was sure that event would come around next wedding season.

  In the aftermath of the accident, Elsie had become friends with Ruben Zook, who’d also been a passenger in the van. Although older than Elsie and probably three feet taller, Ruben had helped Elsie in so many ways, taking over the heavy lifting in the shop and keeping the Country Store open for her when she needed time to grieve.

  “Who would have thought a year ago that I would have a beau? Especially a prankster like Ruben.” Elsie rolled her eyes. “Do you remember how he used to play tricks on everyone? He took every joke too far. I never would have guessed at what he was really like.”

  “Ruben is a godsend,” Fanny said. “Thomas would be very glad to see the good changes in your life.”

  “Ya, we’ve all been through some changes.” Elsie kept her attention on the baby. “With many changes to come. Soon it will be time for you to put away your black dress, Mamm.”

  A sadness trembled inside Fanny. In some ways, she had longed for her mourning to end, but now … now she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

  “Do your old dresses still fit?” Elsie asked. “I’d be happy to do some sewing if you need a new one. There’s plenty of fabric in the shop for you to choose from.”

  “I haven’t tried them, but the old dresses are probably fine,” Fanny said warily.

  “You’ll want to do that this week,” Elsie advised, sounding like the mother instead of the daughter. “You’ve got some changes ahead, too. Now there’ll be no worries about you being seen with Zed.”

  Embarrassment washed over Fanny as she quickly looked down at the table.

  “And don’t you think Zed wants to come back to finish the work on the center?” Elsie looked up from the floor. “We could have him come for supper. Will and Beth would like that.”

  “Oh, Elsie, I don’t know.” Fanny wanted to get off the topic, away from the emotions that were more tangled than a neglected batch of yarn.

  “Everyone misses Zed. Don’t you, Tommy?” she asked, tweaking the baby’s chin. “And I knew you favored him long before second Christmas.”

  In the quiet pause in the warm kitchen, Fanny wasn’t sure how to answer. Honesty was deeply ingrained in her, and if she was to tell the truth, she could not deny her love for Zed. “There may be a better match for Zed out there,” Fanny said. “You can never know what Gott’s plan is.”

  “That’s true, but I think Zed would be lucky to marry you. And what fella could resist stepping into such a wonderful good family like ours?”

  Footsteps bounded down the stairs, and Beth and Will scurried into the kitchen.

  “Will found a spider in the bathroom!” Beth reported as she followed him to the mud porch. “He’s letting it go free.”

  The muscles of Will’s face were clenched in concentration as he tramped through the kitchen with his cupped hands in front of him. “Just a little one,” Will said bravely.

  Just then Caleb appeared at the back door. “Will? Elsie? You two ready to go?”

  All at once, Tommy rattled the spoon on the pot, Beth squealed when Will opened his hand to show Caleb the spider, and Elsie fell back onto the floor beside the baby, doubled in laughter.

  Just another morning in the Lapp kitchen. Fanny thanked the Almighty for the blessing of family.

  30

  The January day was cold and crystal clear with a sky so blue it could have jumped off a paint sample card. Compacted snow crunched under Meg’s boots as she and Jack walked glove in glove down the path to the frozen pond. Although the temperature was in the upper twenties, Meg felt toasty and warm, though a bit puffy in the layers of thermal ski gear borrowed from Zoey. She was glad to have the day off to spend with Jack. If a local woman went into labor today and wanted to have her baby at Fanny’s birthing center, Dr. Trueherz was going to make the trip in from Paradise to handle the delivery.

  “I like that big smile on your face,” Jack said.

  “I’m happy to be with you, Jack.”

  He grinned. “Same. You’ve been one hard lady to pin down this week. What did you guys have, three deliveries? You worked through my day off.”

  “I know, and I wasn’t planning to be working this much yet. Not really.” Women were starting to come to the birthin
g center for their prenatal visits, but the facility wasn’t quite prepared for that yet. Dr. Trueherz had been laid up two days with the flu, and Anna had told Fanny she wasn’t feeling quite up to doing deliveries yet. That left Meg and Fanny to cover the prenatal visits as well as three deliveries in one week. At one point, they’d had two women in the center, both in labor at the same time. “You know I love delivering babies,” Meg told Jack, “but man, I wish they would cooperate with scheduling.”

  “But it’s all good in the end, right?” He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close, so that they were walking in sync. “When that little baby gives a holler, you know it’s all good.”

  “True. And I’m getting to know Fanny really well.” During the lulls in labor, they had talked, quietly and slowly. She learned that Fanny was struggling with guilt over some wrong she had committed, but Fanny wouldn’t say any more about it. When Fanny expressed an interest in Meg’s record-keeping, Meg showed her the way she tracked how each mother’s labor started and how it progressed, as well as the mother’s vitals and the fetal heart tones. Noting Fanny’s interest, Meg loaned her two books—an anatomy textbook and a midwife’s guide. Fanny was grateful and curious, but she explained that she would keep the books in the center, out of reach and sight of little hands and eyes. The contradictions in Amish culture intrigued Meg. While the facts of life were all around Amish children, with animals mating and delivering their young, human reproduction was not discussed, and women did not acknowledge their pregnancies, even to their children. Meg tried to be discreet, even as she armed her patients with facts when discussing their pregnancies.

  However, Meg could not complain about the Amish women who had delivered at the center. So far each and every client had been cooperative and calm. They remained active until the last stages of labor, and their deliveries were swift and routine. They commented a few times on the pain, but did not complain. If these women were any indication of her new practice here in Lancaster County, Meg was more than “halfway” to Heaven.