Second Chance Proposal

by Anna Schmidt

  “Get her breathing,” Greta urged, half leaning forward as if to do it herself.

  Lydia patted the baby girl sharply on her tiny back still slick with the afterbirth. After what seemed like an eternity the baby gasped and then let out a wail. Lydia smiled and turned to her sister. “She’s lovely, Greta.”

  Greta smiled as she cradled her newborn. “Another girl,” she whispered.

  Lydia laughed. “Yah. You have a pair of boys and now a pair of girls.”

  She felt more confident now that the baby was out and breathing. The rest would not be that different from the time she had helped her father deliver a calf. There would be the afterbirth that Luke would take and bury in the field behind the house. Once she had cut the cord, she would take the baby away to wash her and coat her in baby oil before dressing her in the gown that Greta had prepared and wrapping her in the blankets.

  “John!” she shouted, and heard him come running. When he got to the door his eyes were wide with fear. “Is it...?” But as soon as he saw the baby, he started to smile. “You did it,” he said, softly edging into the room and peering over Lydia, who stood between him and Greta as she tried to protect her sister’s modesty.

  “I was only the catcher,” she said, handing him the basin that now held the afterbirth. “Take this downstairs so Luke can bury it when he gets home. Then I need you to bring me fresh water and warm these blankets on the stove—try not to let them catch fire. Oh, and Greta will need a cup of that mint tea.”

  She shooed him from the room as he struggled to balance the basin and the blankets she had draped over his arm. Just then a crack of thunder shook the house and was followed immediately by a flash of lightning that seemed to arc right through the window in Greta’s bedroom. Lydia turned back to her sister and newest niece and cried out in panic as she saw Greta’s eyes roll back and a gush of bright red blood soak the padding.

  * * *

  John was halfway down the stairs when he heard Liddy’s shriek of sheer terror. Carefully he set down the basin on a step and, still clutching the blankets, he raced back up the stairs. When he entered the room, Lydia thrust the tiny slippery, squirming bundle into his hands and then turned back to her sister, grabbing rags from a pile on the bedside and placing them between Greta’s legs.

  “The doctor has to come now, John. I don’t know what to do.” He realized that she was crying and shaking and he wanted to pull her into his arms and reassure her. But he was holding the baby and he could see the blood that soaked through the rags even as Liddy added more. Spying the cradle in the corner of the room, John laid the baby girl down and covered her as best he could with the blankets still clutched in his arms.

  “I’m going for help,” he said.

  “Don’t leave me,” Lydia begged.

  It was exactly what she had said to him that day eight years earlier when he had boarded the train. She had been sobbing then and she was sobbing now. Then he had left, certain that he knew best. Now he hesitated, knowing that what they needed was for him to find help and yet feeling reluctant to leave her alone.

  He crossed the small room and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m going for help, Liddy. I’ll be back.”

  She caught her breath and nodded. Then she looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him to make this all right. “Yes, go,” she whispered as she cupped his cheek with one bloodstained hand. “Go now.”

  He kissed her forehead damp with perspiration. “I won’t be long,” he promised. On his way out the front door, John grabbed the still-wet rain slicker and covered his head as he dashed into the street and barely missed being run over by a motorcar coming toward the house. The car squealed to a stop and a gray-haired man carrying a doctor’s bag got out. “Is this the house? Starns?” he shouted above the driving wind and rain.

  “Yah. Kommen Sie,” John urged, reverting to the German his grandparents and parents had spoken. He led the way back inside the house and up the stairs. “This way.”

  “You’re the father?”

  “A friend,” he replied as he stood aside for the doctor to enter Greta and Luke’s room.

  “Mrs. Starns,” the doctor said in a loud, firm voice. “I’m Dr. Benson.”

  John heard Greta give a low moan of acknowledgment and then he heard Lydia answer the questions the doctor asked as he opened his bag and began examining Greta. Not knowing what else to do, John took the bowl with the afterbirth down to the kitchen and left it so Luke could bury it. He returned and waited outside the door as the sounds coming from the bedroom took on a rhythm of their own. Liddy’s voice, calm now, then the doctor’s. Occasionally, the gurgle or cry of the baby.

  The clock in the front room chimed five o’clock. Outside, the wind had calmed and the rain let up. His uncle had brought Pleasant, who immediately joined the doctor and her half sisters in the bedroom. “Bettina is staying with the other children,” Roger explained. “I thought it best. Is Luke back?”

  “Not yet,” John said. He glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “What if...”

  His uncle clasped his shoulder. “God will show us the way, John. Come downstairs.”

  John followed his uncle down to the kitchen and accepted the cup of tea Pleasant handed him. The house seemed suddenly filled with people and he could not help but wonder where they had all come from and why they hadn’t arrived sooner. He could not shake off the feeling that only the intervention of God’s own hand had made everything turn out right for Greta and Luke and their new baby. He understood just how close this young family had come to the day ending in tragedy. And he could not help but put himself in Luke’s place—Luke who knew nothing as he drove his wagon back from Sarasota where he had gone on business that day. What if Luke had come home to find that Greta had died in childbirth?

  He wandered out to the back porch, sipping his tea as he stared at the fields that lay beyond the town. Fields he and his father had once plowed and planted together. Fields he had abandoned in his zeal to do things his way. The time he had squandered on his foolish pride were years he and Liddy might have shared the joys of marriage and started a family of their own. What did it matter if he farmed or ran a business like his uncle did? What mattered was Liddy.

  He glanced up at the sky, beginning to clear now that the storm had passed. A double rainbow arched its way across the horizon, enveloping the house and town in prisms of color. John felt his chest tighten with tears of gratitude, for surely this was a sign that he’d been given a second chance. And this time he was determined to get things right.

  * * *

  When Luke arrived and heard the news, he raced up the stairs and into the bedroom without even bothering to shed his rain slicker. Greta was sitting up holding their daughter, an exhausted smile on her lips. Lydia made the excuse of showing the doctor out and closed the door behind her with a soft click before leading the way back downstairs.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  “You did everything right for your sister,” he told her. “These things happen. I’m just glad I was able to help. Tell your sister and her husband that they have a fine, healthy baby girl there and, given the demanding nature of her cries, I expect they will have their hands full raising her.” He chuckled as he stepped off the porch and climbed into his car.

  Lydia wrapped her arms in her apron and hugged herself as she closed her eyes and thanked God for the way this day had turned out. She was bone weary and there was still a great deal to be done, but she felt happy.

  “Liddy?” John stepped out onto the porch and stood next to her. “We need to talk,” he said, and she saw that the deep lines of a frown creased his brow.

  “Oh, John, not right now. Can you not be happy for my sister and Luke, for the blessing of this new life?”

  “It is because of their joy that we need to talk,” he persisted. “What happened to
day and the way things might have gone had God not blessed them with your quick thinking has brought me to my senses. I have wasted so much time, Liddy, so many years I might have shared with you and the children we might have had.”

  Lydia felt her cheeks go pink as she glanced toward the open front door, hoping no one was close enough to overhear this very personal conversation. “John Amman, this is neither the time nor—”

  “This is exactly the time, Liddy,” he argued as he stepped closer, his fists clenched at his sides as he stared down at her. “This is past the time.”

  “You are speaking in riddles, John Amman, and I am very tired and have no patience for—”

  “Will you marry me or not, Lydia Goodloe?”

  Her first instinct was to laugh. Surely he was making a joke, a cruel one at that. But she did not laugh. Instead, she met his gaze. “I answered this question once before—eight years ago,” she reminded him. “It was you who...”

  “You said yes then. Are you saying the same now?”

  Without warning, the years fell away and the man she was looking up at was the man she had loved then. The man against whom all others had been measured and come up short. “I...” She swallowed hard and shook her head to clear it. Had there ever been a stranger day than this one had turned out to be?

  She closed her eyes and thought of the hours just past, the baby she had lovingly washed and wiped with baby oil while the doctor worked with Greta to stop the bleeding. She thought about the cotton birthing gown and the soft blankets she had wrapped the baby in before presenting Greta with her new daughter. It had been like handing her sister a very precious gift. And yes, she thought of the envy she had felt that this gift was not hers, might never be hers.

  But perhaps God was giving her another chance, giving John and her another chance to make a fresh start and have the life together they had planned.

  “Liddy?” His voice was husky with pleading. “Open your eyes. I am right here. Can we not begin again?”

  Oh, how she wanted to say yes to his plea. How she wanted to set aside the doubts that had hardened inside her in the years he had been gone and sent no word. But if he left again surely her heart would be shattered forever. Caution had become her proverb and she would not abandon it now. “I will stay here for the next month caring for Greta and her family,” she said slowly. “I cannot stop you should you decide to call on Luke and Greta in the evenings after your work is finished.” She watched as a grin twitched at the corners of his mouth and knew that he understood she was giving him permission to court her.

  “And you will sit with me sometimes on those evenings, Liddy?”

  His smile was contagious, and to hide the joy she felt building inside her she ducked her head. “It would be rude not to,” she admitted.

  “And at the end of that month, will I have my answer?”

  It was a reasonable request especially given their ages. And she did love him, had always loved only him. But would a month be long enough for her to find trust again? “You will have your answer,” she said softly.

  Chapter Ten

  On more than one occasion John had heard his partner, George, use the expression “walking on air” to describe his feelings whenever he had a business success. Finally John thought he understood what George had meant. On his way home from Luke’s house, with Liddy’s promise echoing in his mind, he did feel a certain bounce in his step. Oh, she had doubts and they would not be easily put to rest, but he had a month to prove to her that he was home to stay and intent on making a life with her.

  He stopped by the hardware store to check on the rocking chair he had finished only the evening before. Luke had asked him to deliver it as soon as possible but, with so many people crowded into the house to meet the newest member of the Starns family, John thought it best to hold the delivery until the following day.

  “On the other hand,” he muttered to himself as he ran a soft cloth over the finish to remove any remaining sawdust, “no time like the present.” He grinned as he realized delivering the chair later that very evening would be the perfect opportunity to spend a little time alone with Liddy. Luke would be with Greta and the baby, the other children would surely be in bed and all the rest of the company would have returned to their homes. It would just be Liddy and him—alone.

  He looked down at the sawdust that had formed a fine covering down the front of his trousers. He should go to his rooms and make himself more presentable. Before his partner had married, George would take his lady a gift like flowers or candy. But the Amish did not believe in such things, and what could John possibly bring Liddy, anyway?

  Your heart.

  And suddenly he fully grasped the mistake he had made in leaving. Liddy had tried repeatedly to tell him that material goods did not matter to her. She had always believed and assured him that all they needed was each other and God would take care of the rest. Now he understood she’d been saying that the only thing that mattered to her was that he loved her.

  But John knew that love could not last on an empty stomach. He had seen families fall apart—good, solid families where there had once been bonds of love that had seemed unbreakable. When hard times came even those bonds weakened and unraveled. And his bonds to Liddy had come unraveled, as well. Hard times had had little to do with it. It had been her stubborn refusal to trust in him that had been their undoing.

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. But maybe now that her livelihood was in jeopardy, she would come to some understanding of why he had gone away. Maybe now he could convince her that work—money—was important. Of course, there was always work to be had. He had heard her tell Greta that she could no doubt find a position cleaning houses in Sarasota, an idea that caused him to cringe. The very idea of his Liddy on her hands and knees scrubbing floors for some wealthy family in Sarasota was unimaginable. He had to come up with some viable way to show her he could earn a living that would be enough for both of them to live on.

  “First things first,” he said as he reached for the brush his aunt kept on the tool rack and whisked the dust from his trousers. “First step is to ease her fears about whether or not you’ve changed. Once you’ve earned her trust, then you can worry about how you’re going to earn a living.”

  He placed the brush back on its hook, then wrapped the rocking chair in an old clean blanket. His purpose was not only to protect the finish from any lingering raindrops but also to hide it from Greta should she look out the window of the upstairs bedroom and see him coming up the street.

  Not likely, he thought as he recalled the cries of the newborn filling the house. Liddy—his Liddy—had delivered that baby girl all by herself. He grinned as he remembered the way her eyes had glittered with pure triumph as she held that baby. He could only imagine how beautiful she would be holding their child.

  * * *

  Lydia had finally gotten the other children settled for the night and all of the friends and neighbors had left. The house was quiet as she sat by her sister’s bedside. Luke had gone to see Dr. Benson to his car. The doctor had stopped by unexpectedly “just to be sure everything is all right.”

  Dr. Benson had assured her, “I’m just here for the extra innings,” using a baseball phrase that Luke had had to explain to her. “Mother and daughter are doing just fine, thanks to you, young lady.”

  Lydia had blushed at that. No one had called her either young or a lady in a very long time. It was the kind of meaningless flattery outsiders doled out on a regular basis. Lydia had bowed her head to acknowledge the compliment but said nothing. Still, she found that she liked the gray-haired doctor. He reminded her of her father, and his willingness to come whenever someone in Celery Fields called had endeared him to the entire community.

  “Get some rest,” he had advised. “All of you. That daughter of yours strikes me as one determined to have her way.” He actuall
y winked at Greta. “Seems to me she might be a lot like her mother.”

  Greta smiled, her features revealing nothing of the trauma she had been through earlier that day. Years earlier Dr. Benson had been called for the delivery of both Greta and Lydia and in that moment he reminded Lydia even more of their beloved father. How she missed him. She couldn’t help wondering what he would say about John’s return.

  Her father had always been wary of John. “That boy has his head in the clouds,” he would tell her. “Be careful, Liddy, that he doesn’t lead you astray.” It had been the only topic of contention between them. After John left, Lydia had consoled herself in the stronger bond she and her father developed as he turned his attention toward worrying about Greta and her capricious nature.

  Greta was sleeping by the time Lydia heard Luke close the front door and climb the stairs. But she realized he was not alone and, when she turned toward the door, she saw John entering the room carrying a large blanket-wrapped object. She could just see the graceful curve of the rocker peeking out from beneath the covering. Luke grinned and signaled for her to remain quiet while he silently directed the placement of the chair next to the crib. He moved their mother’s rocking chair into the hall.

  John removed the blanket and then adjusted the position of the chair. He touched his handiwork with such reverence that Lydia believed he was reluctant to part with it. Then he stood for a long moment looking down at the sleeping newborn in the crib. She saw him swipe the back of one hand across his cheek before he turned around, grinned at Luke and tiptoed out of the room.

  “I’ll just see him out,” Lydia whispered, but Luke had already taken her place next to Greta’s bedside. He was holding his wife’s hand as he watched her sleep.

  John was downstairs and reaching for the doorknob. “The chair will serve them well,” she said softly. It was as close as people of their faith ever came to handing out a compliment.

  “Maybe one day,” he said as he watched her descend the stairs, “I can make such a chair for you—for us and our child.”