by Kelly Irvin
“That’s because you’re still practically newlyweds.” Bess Graber stood and picked up her coffee mug. It appeared she might be in a family way again—a thought that tickled Laura pink. Her blue eyes made bluer than sky by her royal-purple dress sparkled with happiness. “Aidan and I spend more time thinking about what to get the kinner than each other now. Anyone need more kaffi or hot chocolate?”
“Let me get it.” Rosalie Stutzman hoisted herself from the other side of the quilting frame. Like Bess, she was in a family way, only on a much larger scale. Almost eight months along and, rumor had it, expecting twins. They’d chosen her house for the frolic so she wouldn’t have to drive. “My back is killing me and I need to check on Delia and Samuel. They’ve been napping for over an hour. For Samuel, that’s a miracle. When he starts school next year, no more naps.”
“I’ll take a cup of chamomile tea.” Laura smiled up at her friend. Being retired as a midwife meant someone else would bring these new babies into the world. She stifled a sigh. No sense in regretting what couldn’t be changed. “My hands and my knees ache today. It must be the cold.”
“Oh, look, it’s snowing.” A mug in each hand, Rosalie paused at the window. “The first snow of the year. Finally.”
“You never know in this part of Missouri. Snow one minute, sunshine and fifty the next.” Finicky weather served as part of the charm in living in Jamesport. God liked to mix it up and keep everyone on their toes. “Snow makes it feel more like the Christmas season, though.”
“That’s not snow. It’s freezing rain mixed with sleet.” Jennie kept sewing. She was determined to get this quilt done in time to sell it at her Combination Store before the holidays when demand was particularly high. “It’ll be gone by midafternoon. Which is fine by me. I’m not a fan of driving the buggy in the snow. We’ll have plenty of that this winter.”
Being part of the holiday hustle and bustle at the store this year sat at number two on Laura’s list of chores she missed. Her knees and ankles simply couldn’t handle standing for hours at a time. “I love the seasons. Every one of them. All that winter snow will make us appreciate spring flowers all the more.”
“Jah, Miss Sunshine.” Mary Katherine stuck her tongue out at Laura. “You’re not the one driving into town every day to the bookstore.”
“You like it, you know you do.”
“Ach, there goes Zechariah shuffling out there in that slick sleet with his cane. He’ll fall for sure and Ben will have a fit.” Shaking her head, Rosalie trudged toward the door that led to the kitchen. “The man seems to have lost what sense the gut Lord gave him along with his health.”
“Ben loves his groossdaadi. I’m sure he feels responsible, too, since his daed gave him a turn at watching over Zechariah.” Laura made her tone soothing. Plain families took care of their old folks. They were gifts. Not burdens. Rosalie knew that. “I read that confusion can be a symptom of Parkinson’s in the book I checked out from the library.”
“You were reading up on Parkinson’s.” Jennie giggled. “Sudden interest in another aspect of the medical field?”
“Just curious.” And sympathetic. Getting old, although a gift, could be a tough row to hoe. A disease like Parkinson’s was no walk across the pasture. “I like to be helpful if I can.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s he doing out there?” One hand holding back the folds of the green curtain, Bess pressed the flat of her fisted hand on the window and wiped away condensation in a widening circle. “It looks like he’s filling the bird feeder. In this weather?”
“Tons of birds are looking for food in the winter. They don’t all migrate like the purple martins.” Laura rose and went to stand next to Bess. Cold air seeped in around the window’s caulking. She shivered. Lately, she didn’t have as much body fat to keep her warm as she once had. If her dress hems were any indication, she’d somehow lost a few inches in height as well. Old age had mysterious ways. “Looks like he’s hooking up one of those buddy propane heaters. The birds will love a heated birdbath. You just turn on the pilot for heat.”
“Since when did you become a bird lover?” Mary Katherine’s voice held suppressed laughter. “Or, have you been brushing up so you can carry on a conversation with the bird lover? Everyone knows Zechariah is crazy about them.”
“Don’t be silly.” All her knowledge of birds had been acquired since her retirement from midwifery. She sat on the dawdy haus porch and watched the purple martins, cardinals, blue jays, and sparrows wrangle as the spring evenings lengthened into summer. The fresh breeze turned into a languid rustle of leaves weighted down by summer humidity. Hummingbirds zipped around the orange and yellows of the Pride of Barbados and the esperanza, keeping her company.
A Janette Oke book, a mason jar of homemade tea, and some decent bug spray helped pass the time. Visits from her kiddos too. Lots of visits over cookies. Lots of storytelling. Boo-boo kissing. They and the birds were her companions when her now-remarried friends filled up their lives with husbands and couple-y things. “They like the black oiled sunflower seeds. I like sunflower seeds now and then too.”
The other women joined in a chorus of laughter. “Maybe you should run out there and chat with Zechariah about where to buy them,” Jennie suggested.
“Or where he bought the heater,” Bess added.
“You girls are too silly. Besides, I think Rosalie is having a word with him.” Laura tapped her gnarled finger on the cold windowpane. Rosalie had donned her coat and rubber boots in order to follow Zechariah outside. From her gesticulations and Zechariah’s overt turning-of-the-back, the exchange pleased neither one of them. “He’s not so thrilled with her either.”
A few seconds passed. Rosalie threw her hands up, whirled, and marched back to the house. She tromped in the front door and stopped on the braided rug to tug off her muddy boots. Balancing her unwieldy body proved a challenge. She propped her hand on the wall and grunted as she shed the boots, followed by her coat. “I thought Ben was stubborn. Now I know where he gets it. Zechariah is the most stubborn man who walks the earth.” Her cheeks were red and her kapp damp with melting sleet. “He’s had that stomach flu that’s going around. Fever, vomiting, diarrhea, the whole kit and caboodle. Yet he insists on parading around half-dressed—”
“Rosalie! Half-dressed?” Iris Kurtz chortled as she placed her baby Thomas on her shoulder and patted. Thomas obliged with an enormous belch. She laid the four-month-old in Delia’s old playpen and scurried to the window. “Looks to me like he’s wearing pants and a shirt. Thank the gut Lord.”
“You know what I mean. No coat.” A pained look on her face, Rosalie rubbed her belly. “Ach, indigestion. I hope I’m not getting that flu. I can’t afford to get sick. Who’ll watch the boplin? Not Zechariah. He doesn’t get around well. He can’t be running after Delia.”
“He probably misses his dawdy haus.” Laura was used to being the peacemaker and the problem solver. With age came wisdom. Or confusion. Or silence. Lots of silence in the middle of the night. Zechariah knew about that too. His wife, Marian, passed two years earlier of female cancer of some sort. If anyone understood this loneliness, Laura did. “I’m sure he’s just getting used to the idea of living here. He’ll adjust.”
“Ach.” Rosalie trudged to the table. She gripped the back of the closest chair. Her knuckles turned white. “This feels wrong. Something’s not right.”
Iris crossed the room in two quick strides. She rubbed her friend’s shoulder. “What do you mean it feels wrong?”
“It’s too early. I’m not due for another five weeks.” Rosalie’s shoulders hunched. She closed her eyes and rocked. “It feels like labor.”
“You probably overdid it a bit today.” Iris, who’d taken a hiatus from delivering babies when Thomas was born, guided Rosalie toward a hickory rocking chair by the fireplace. “Take a load off those swollen feet. Rest. We’ll clean up and take care of the little ones.”
Hand on her hip, Rosalie trudged towar
d the chair. “Nee, nee, nee.” She jerked to a halt. Her mouth opened and her eyes closed. She sighed. “My water broke.”
TWO
BABIES COME WHEN THEY’RE READY. LAURA PLUMPED Rosalie’s pillows and smoothed the sheets on her bed while Iris checked to see how far labor had progressed. An icy draft swept across the bedroom, but the hard work of having two babies would warm Rosalie. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Her fingers rubbed a spot on the bridge of her nose as if she tried to ward off a headache.
Iris’s forehead wrinkled. A concerned look flitted across her face. She quickly shuttered it. Laura lifted her eyebrows. Iris shook her head. She nodded toward the door and the hallway beyond.
“I’ll get you a glass of water and a warm washrag for your face.” Laura patted Rosalie’s cheek. “You rest up. You have work to do.”
“Will you deliver my boplin, Iris?” Rosalie lifted her head. Sweat shone on her pale skin. “Or do you think Theresa will get here in time to do it?”
“Bess and Mary Katherine went for her.” Iris smiled, but her blue eyes held worry. She smoothed back a wisp of honey-blonde hair and tucked it in her kapp. “Jennie went to get Ben.”
A question not answered. Laura headed for the hallway. Iris followed.
“What’s it look like?”
“Her placenta is presenting first.” Iris chewed her lower lip. “She needs to go to the medical center in Chillicothe. Theresa told me she tried to convince her to have the babies at the birthing center and she said no. This is two babies. They’re premature. I don’t want to take any chances. We need to call an ambulance.”
“I’ll tell her. You meet Ben at the door and talk to him. He can run out to the phone shack.”
“Say a prayer?”
“I will.” Laura took a breath and marched back into the bedroom. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d delivered this kind of news, but it was never easy and she had thought herself done with it. Gott, put Your protective hand on these little ones and give Rosalie the strength and peace of mind to weather any storm that comes. You are the Great Physician. These are Your babies. Thy will be done.
That last part troubled her the most. Thy will be done.
A hard phrase for someone who might lose a baby. Or two babies. Or who lost a husband too soon. Or a wife.
“What is it?” Rosalie threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Her curly brown hair framed her face and straggled down her back. “What are you two whispering about out there? You act like I’ve never had a baby before. I know how to do this. It’s not that hard.”
“It’s different this time.” Laura sat next to her and patted her knee. “You have placenta previa. Do you know what that is?”
Rosalie’s hands went to her stomach and began to rub in a soft, circular motion. “The placenta is in the way. My boplin will have trouble getting out.”
“That’s right. Because of that and the fact that they’re early, we feel it would be best to deliver at the medical center. The boplin may need some help with oxygen and such that we can’t give them here.”
“I’ve never been in the hospital.” Her brown eyes wet with tears, Rosalie’s face crumpled. “I want to wait for Theresa, see what she says.”
“Theresa already told you she thought it would be best. She knows other Plain women have delivered at the medical center, like Millie Mast. It happens sometimes, and we always want to do what’s best for the baby.”
Plain folks preferred as little intrusion from the English world as possible, but they also knew what it meant to be good stewards of the gifts God gave them. That included babies.
“Doctors and machines and strangers. How can that be what’s best?” Rosalie swiped at her nose with her sleeve. “I’m a grown woman. Is it silly that I’m afraid?”
“Not silly. We’re all afraid of the unknown. But we trust in Gott’s plan for us. We set our worry aside. That’s how we show our faith.” Laura stood. Spouting the words was easy. Following her own advice much harder. But Rosalie didn’t need to know that. She needed a strong, faithful friend right now. “Lean back and rest. I’ll pack a bag for you. We’ll be ready when the ambulance comes.”
“Ambulance? Why can’t we drive?”
“It would take too long in a buggy. The ambulance will zip right out here and get you to the medical center fast.”
“It’ll scare the kinner.”
“Mudder?” They turned to see Samuel, his chubby face crinkled in a scowl, standing at the door. The five-year-old scampered to his mother. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Delia’s crying.”
“I’m having the boplin.” She hugged him and kissed his mop of curly blond hair. “There’s a change in plan. I’m going to town to have them. You need to take care of Delia and Groossdaadi for me.”
Samuel’s expression grew even more serious. “Can I make them eat their carrots?”
“Delia, jah, but I doubt anyone can make Groossdaadi do something he doesn’t want to do.” Rosalie’s chuckle sounded weak. “Your daed will come back later and tell you if you have new brothers or sisters. Or maybe one of each.”
“Two boys. I’d rather have bruders to play with. I’ll tell Christopher when he comes in with the wood.”
“I’ll see what I can do about filling your order.”
Grinning at being the bearer of good news, he skipped from the room without a backward glance.
“Ach.” Rosalie put both hands on her knees and panted. “I’m selfish. I don’t want to go by myself. I want Ben to go with me.”
“He will.”
“But what about the kinner? Who’ll make supper? Zechariah’s hands are too shaky. I can’t leave them with him. He’ll burn the house down trying to keep the fire going.”
“I’ll stay with them. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I can’t ask you to stay here with Zechariah.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. He’s not such an ogre.”
“Says you.”
Zechariah didn’t scare Laura. Never had. He and Eli ran around in the same gaggle of teenagers, hunting, fishing, swimming, and going to singings in their courting days. Memories of his toothy smile swam to the surface amid a sea of images. Icy wind burning her cheeks as she skated on a frozen pond in winter, the taste of fresh apples and the feel of juice running down her chin under a brilliant summer sun. The aroma of frying fish on the Coleman stove at Stockton Lake. In those days Zechariah had a quick smile and a kind word for everyone. Times changed. If anyone knew that, she did.
Swallowing a lump that made her throat ache, Laura packed a fresh nightgown, underwear, and a change of clothes in Rosalie’s canvas bag.
She handed Rosalie a clean kapp. “Christopher is eight. Old enough to act as chaperone.”
“As if you would need one with that crotchety old man.” Rosalie smiled for the first time. “I don’t mean to be ugly. It’s just been hard since he came to live with us. Everything is topsy-turvy. For him and for us. He doesn’t make it easy. I try to be nice. He mumbles. He never smiles. He doesn’t eat anything I cook.” Her smile collapsed and tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Ach, honey, one thing at a time. Right now, save your strength for the boplin. Everything else will take care of itself.”
And Laura would have time to straighten out one crotchety old man before his great-grandsons or -daughters came home from the hospital.
THREE
A SIREN SCREAM BROKE THE SILENCE. STARTLED, Zechariah dropped the hammer on his foot. “Ach.”
He hopped backward, teetered, lost his balance, and toppled on his behind in the hay and dirt on the barn floor.
What could a bunch of ladies gathered for a frolic to make Christmas presents do that would result in the need for an ambulance? The need to scare the pudding out of him?
Gott, is this what I’ve come to? Falling all over myself at a siren?
Zechariah rubbed his aching wrists with dirty hands. Despite his thick, black work boot, his toes hurt from th
e blow. His breaths came in white puffs. Why not take me now? Why not take me instead of Marian two years ago? She had so much love to give to those kinner in there.
Zechariah had no business questioning God. He would never do it aloud. But the same unanswered questions wormed their way into his thoughts no matter how often he reminded himself: obedience, humility, patience, discipleship, the foundation of faith.
Thy will be done. Even if I can’t understand it after seventy-five years on earth.
God’s will did not include feeling sorry for himself or throwing a pity party over a simple fall. “Get up, old man.”
He confined talking aloud to himself to times when he was alone. He crawled to the nearest stall post and dragged himself to his feet. With trembling legs he staggered to the stout hickory cane his son Ivan had given him for Christmas the first year after his diagnosis, only months before doctors pronounced Marian’s cancer diagnosis.
Reminding himself to walk slowly, he gritted his teeth, shuffled to the doors, and slid them open. A Daviess County ambulance skidded to a stop in front of the house. The siren faded and stopped, leaving blessed silence.
One of the paramedics, looking young enough to be a grade school kid, dashed into the house. The other tugged a gurney from the ambulance.
Zechariah tottered to the porch and slipped through the door the medic left open. His great-grandson looked up from his wooden blocks scattered on the pine plank floor in front of the blazing fireplace. “Do you like my barn?”
“It looks gut. What happened? Is one of the women hurt?”
“Mudder’s having the boplin.”
“Why an ambulance?” Why ask a five-year-old this question? “Never mind. Keep playing, little one.” He started toward the hallway and the bedrooms.
Laura Kauffman trotted from Ben’s room. What was she doing? She retired from delivering babies long ago. Zechariah stepped into her path. “Why didn’t someone tell me about the boplin? Why the ambulance?”
“Believe it or not, not everything is about you.”