The Sacrifice

by Beverly Lewis

  Hannah nodded. She struggled with guilt at having spoken out so boldly to Mary Ruth after going with her to Quarryville that single night. “I wouldn’t think of adding more sadness to her,” she mumbled as they picked their way over the snow and ice to the back door. Not one little bit.

  Hannah embraced Mary Ruth in the entryway of the Nolts’ fine house. “Oh, how I miss you, sister!” she whispered.

  “I miss you,” Mary Ruth said, clinging to her.

  Leah wrapped her arms around both twins, and the three of them stood hugging and weeping.

  After a time Mary Ruth showed them into the front room, where the tree stood alight with shimmering tinsel strands and tall bubbling lights. They spoke softly to each other, Mary Ruth doing most of the talking, as usual. “How’s Mamma feeling?” she asked.

  “She had to rest awhile following the noon meal,” Leah offered, “but she was back up again before supper and had herself a right nice time.” Then Leah began to share the news of Naomi and Luke Bontrager’s baby boy, born six days ago.

  Mary Ruth asked, “I wonder who could get word about Naomi’s first baby to our sister?” Leah knew she meant Sadie but had politely refrained from mentioning the forbidden name. After some discussion, none of them felt the urgency to force the issue.

  There was an awkward pause, and then Hannah spoke up, “The smithy’s whole family came to our house today.” She seemed eager to change the subject. “Adah and Sam sure are an awful cute couple.”

  Leah nodded, eyes fixed on the sparkling tree while Mary Ruth sat with her hands folded against the black of her mourning dress and apron.

  Hannah recalled Adah and Sam’s wedding, where Leah and Dorcas had stood up as bridesmaids, along with Adah’s same-age cousin, Rachel Peachey. What a joyful day it had been. Leah herself had been absolutely radiant—almost like a bride.

  Suddenly Hannah felt sorry all over again for Mary Ruth, having lost her beau to death. I shouldn’t have mentioned Adah and Sam, she thought, chagrined.

  Quickly Hannah said, “If I’d known we were goin’ to stop by here, I would’ve brought the present I made for you. Aw, that’s too bad.”

  Leah shook her head, her hazel eyes shimmering with tears. “The idea to surprise you popped in my head on our way back from taking the birthday quilt to Deacon Stoltzfus’s wife.”

  “Oh jah . . . and how nice of you,” Mary Ruth said, filling in as both Hannah and Leah brushed tears away. “S’pose Mrs. Stoltzfus was awful glad to have it.”

  “She was,” Leah spoke up. “I hope it brought some cheer to the house, ’cause it was awful hard seeing them . . . all of them lookin’ so forlorn.”

  “How did Ezra seem to you?” asked Mary Ruth.

  The reference to his name sliced through Hannah’s heart. “He ain’t himself a’tall,” she managed to say.

  “Well, and no wonder,” Mary Ruth said softly. “I ran into his older brother Leroy the other day at Central Market in downtown Lancaster. He told me how worried he was . . . that Ezra’s not so sure anymore ’bout staying Amish. Feels the Lord God took away his best brother.”

  They were silent for a time and then Leah said softly, “We’ll pray Ezra changes his mind and doesn’t get himself shunned.”

  Hannah stiffened at her sister’s words but said nothing. “He’ll need time to grieve, of course.” Mary Ruth reached for Hannah’s hand. “I say you’re right, Leah. We’ll pray.”

  Standing up, Hannah went to the Christmas tree and stood before it, hoping not to hear further talk of her beau. Her eyes were dazzled by the brightness and vivid colors. “How can ya think of stayin’ on here, sister?” she asked finally. “Livin’ with Englishers ’n’ all? Can’t ya make things right with Dat and come on home?” Tonight would be the perfect timing for such a thing, she thought. “It’s so near to Christmas, after all.”

  She was surprised to find Mary Ruth at her side just that quick. “Jah, but it’s not in my heart to leave behind my newfound faith. It’s the Lord’s birthday we celebrate.”

  “You don’t need to tell us.” Leah joined them beside the tree.

  “No, I ’s’pose not. It’s just that . . . I’ve opened my heart to the Lord Jesus and His ways. I feel brand-new inside, truly I do.”

  Leah was nodding her head, as if to say she agreed.

  Somewhat startled, Hannah stared at the tree. “Seems to me you’ve embraced the beliefs of Englishers. You’re goin’ backward ’stead of forward in the faith of our Anabaptist forefathers.”

  “You’re upset because I found mercy and grace at a Mennonite church, ain’t so?” Mary Ruth asked. “And ’cause I’m living here with fancy folk, too. Isn’t that your biggest worry, really?”

  Hannah tried her best to share the things that troubled her deeply—possibly living forever apart from Mary Ruth—but her twin was closed up to the Old Ways, it surely seemed. Mary Ruth insisted she’d found a “precious new thing,” and nothing Hannah could say made a bit of difference.

  She and Leah trudged through the snow to the sleigh and horse. Hannah felt awful glum as they rode into the crisp and icy night, back to the Ebersol Cottage. Truth be told, she almost wished they’d gone straight home after the Stoltzfus visit.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Leah, come inside quick!” Aunt Lizzie called to her from the doorway.

  Leah and Hannah hurried into the kitchen. “What is it?” Leah asked, fear gripping her. She and Hannah followed Lizzie upstairs.

  “Is Mamma all right?” Hannah asked softly.

  Leah tiptoed into her parents’ bedroom, shocked to see Mamma thrashing about, crying out with her wrenching pains.

  “This is like nothing she’s ever experienced before,” Lizzie told them in hushed tones, eyes wide with concern. “She’s never uttered a single cry in childbirth . . . never!”

  Dat sat off to the side of the room as was customary, though Leah noticed the agitation written on his face as he kept the newspaper raised high to shield his view.

  Lizzie asked Hannah, who was still standing in the hall, to wait downstairs. “And, Leah, won’t you go ’n’ boil some water?”

  “Jah,” said Leah, her heart in her throat.

  “Please close the door behind you,” Lizzie said over her shoulder.

  Mamma’s in trouble! Leah rushed downstairs to put a kettle of water on the wood stove. Swiftly she headed back upstairs to stand at Mamma’s bedside. Her heart broke as she watched Mamma struggle so. She wanted to do something to help—take Mamma’s pulse, perhaps, while Dat counted the seconds steadily. Jah, this one thing I can do!

  Tenderly she held her mother’s weak arm, feeling the pulse . . . much too slow. Mamma’s heartbeat was fading in strength even as Leah pressed her fingers against the white wrist.

  “Hannah must ride immediately to get the midwife,” Leah said, reliving the night Sadie had travailed with the birth of her dead son.

  “No . . . no, it should be the Hexedokder,” said Dat, still hiding behind his paper. “We daresn’t take any chances.”

  Mamma tried to lift her head. “No, Abram, not . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Ida does not want the powwow doctor settin’ foot in this house,” Lizzie insisted, clearly speaking on behalf of Mamma. “Better to call for Anna Mae Yoder, the midwife. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Well, whoever Hannah gets, tell her to make it snappy!” demanded Dat, lowering his newspaper momentarily.

  Reluctant to leave Mamma’s side, Leah turned and fled the room yet again.

  “What’s happened . . . to my prayer . . . veiling?” Ida asked, reaching her right hand up and finding her head bare as she lay in her bed. She felt utterly dismayed at this discovery, her long hair having come loose from its bun. Such prolonged labor . . . never ending it seemed. She tried hard to form the words, make them sound sensible, understandable, yet her lips would not cooperate. Ever so frustrating when she wanted to communicate this needful thing.

  “My dear, your head cove
ring’s unnecessary just now,” Abram said, his face close to hers. She smelled pipe tobacco on his breath, sweet and soothing, and she longed for him to hold her in his arms.

  “I’m sinking, Abram. Oh, Lizzie . . . help me. I fear I’m a-fallin’.”

  “You’re right here, dearest sister.” It was Lizzie’s voice, soft and gentle. “The midwife will be on her way soon. Press on, Ida. Don’t give up.”

  “Find my . . . prayer veiling,” she said again, yearning for it. She made an excruciating effort to open her eyes. “Please do this thing . . . I ask.”

  She was aware of Abram’s hand on hers, the gentle dabbing of a damp towel at her forehead. “Ida . . . dear one,” he said.

  She fell into what seemed to be a deep sleep, suddenly free of stabbing pain. In her stupor, she felt the loving hands of either Lizzie or Leah placing her head covering atop her head, and then tying it tenderly beneath her chin.

  “Da Herr sei mit du . . . the Lord be with you,” said Lizzie and kissed her forehead.

  A blissful warm nothingness overtook her, and she was helpless to resist.

  Hannah felt she was nearly flying in the family sleigh, hurrying the mare as best she could. After dropping the midwife off at home, she turned right around and rode up the road to the Nolts’ place. There she timidly knocked on the door, only to stand on the porch, waiting. In her dire need for a quick response, she remembered it was growing quite late and looked to see if the Christmas tree was still blazing merrily in the front window. She stepped to the side of the door and saw the front room was dark; not a light was on anywhere on the main level of the house that she could tell. Thinking she best hurry, she pressed the doorbell and stepped back, hearing the dingdong-ding of the chime, feeling terribly intrusive and wishing there was a way to alert Mary Ruth without waking up the entire family.

  As it turned out, Dan Nolt came to the door in his long bathrobe and slippers. She told him why she’d come at such an hour, apologizing. “Shall I call for Dr. Schwartz?” the man asked with concern in his eyes.

  “The Amish midwife is with Mamma now” was all she said.

  “Very well,” he said. “But if you have any qualms at all . . . the doctor is just around the corner. It would be no trouble at all to summon him.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure what to do; with both Aunt Lizzie and the midwife tending to Mamma, surely all would be well. “Denki, but no,” she said shyly. It was terribly unnerving to be speaking about Mamma’s care with the head of this English household, of all things!

  Soon she found herself upstairs in the grand house, waiting for Mary Ruth in her fine-looking bedroom. Her twin quickly dressed around, anxiety in her eyes. And together the two of them hurried home.

  “My friend and sister in the Lord.”

  Rousing herself, Ida recognized the dim voice as Annie Mae Yoder’s. The midwife and her black bag were present at last—Annie Mae would help spare her life and her baby’s, too.

  Annie Mae examined her and immediately said she would attempt to reposition the baby. “It’s breech,” she said, placing gentle hands on Ida’s abdomen, attempting to begin the forward roll, moving the baby up and out of the pelvic bones. She did this several times, but there was no change in the baby’s position, she said.

  “The child lies directly across the uterus,” Annie told them.

  “Horizontal?” Lizzie asked. “ ’Tis dangerous, ain’t so?”

  “Jah,” said Annie Mae softly, “the shoulders will lead the way into the birth canal . . . if I can’t reposition the baby.”

  “Well, keep tryin’,” Abram insisted.

  Annie said meekly, “I fear Ida bleeds too much for that.”

  Ida, in her haze, took Annie’s words to mean real trouble. She’d heard of rare breech positions. But this. Oh, my dear babe’s life is in jeopardy. Father in heaven, help Annie Mae know what to do!

  The intense contractions began again. She held on to the twisted sheet, desperately wanting to control her cries but to no avail.

  “My dear Ida, the baby and you . . . both are in an awful bad way,” the older woman said when the birth pangs abated momentarily.

  “Help my wife live,” Abram said. “This I beg of you.”

  No . . . no, Abram . . . the baby’s life is most important. Life for this our son.

  But try as she might, she could not verbally express her urgent wish. She squeezed Abram’s hand—the simple yet difficult squeeze of her fingers on his callused flesh.

  “She understands you. Now, get on with it!” said her husband.

  Ach, Abram, be ever so kind, she thought.

  “Work with me, Ida. Help me deliver this child.”

  “Why not try turning the baby once more?” Lizzie was saying, ever near.

  “Ida’s hemorrhaging strongly” came the solemn answer. “I scarcely feel her pulse.”

  In a haze of confusion, Ida did her best to follow Annie’s instructions, attempting to be stoic, as she’d always been in the past. In the far recesses of her mind, she strangely recalled that never before had she needed a speck of coaxing or help. Not even with the delivery of twins.

  Such a dreadful pain exploded through her, wounding her, lingering longer than before. Deadly. It continued, shuddering its fury within her till she felt she might break asunder. O Lord Jesus, I call upon your name.

  “Do something!” Abram commanded. “Spare my wife!”

  Annie Mae made the offer of ether. “Just a sedative whiff.”

  “Denki . . . but no. I must hear . . . my baby’s cries,” Ida managed to say.

  “Please let Annie help you, Mamma,” Leah urged.

  Ida could feel Annie Mae’s breath on her cheek now, replacing Abram’s. She was aware of the midwife’s grip on her weak hand. She felt at once like a small girl again . . . she saw the four-sided Martin birdhouse in Hickory Hollow, where she’d grown up in her parents’ big farmhouse . . . the white birdhouse shooting up tall from a yellow daisy-strewn meadow. Martins flew together in family units, going to warmer climes come autumn. Staying together . . .

  She felt torn between this world and the next, weary of this pilgrim way, drawn—no, pulled ever so gently, even lovingly—and, oh, she longed to allow herself to simply let go. To fly away to Glory Land, that home of her Lord and Savior where her heart, her spirit, her very being craved to be.

  But something held her fast. Her dear baby was on his way. His little body was hankering for life, for air to breathe. This wee boy would grow up without his mamma; she knew this in her bones. He was going to grow under the influence of Abram, to learn to plow and cultivate the soil. The good earth . . . Oh, this son I am giving life to.

  An image of a pond glistened as a breeze made the sun’s kisses sparkle on the surface. Then, away in the distance, a youthful figure came walking toward her.

  Oh, Mamma . . . I see you. You’re coming for me!

  “My darling mother,” Leah was saying.

  But Ida was confused by her daughter’s words, mixed up with her own mother’s image near the radiant pond.

  “Hang on, Ida,” Abram said from the corner of the room.

  A surge of energy she had not known in hours filled her completely. She raised her head, leaning on her elbows, and opened her eyes to see Leah and Lizzie on her right and Annie Mae on her left. Dear, dear grayheaded Annie. How many babies had she safely seen into this world?

  “Lie back, sweet Ida. Rest now,” Annie whispered.

  Abram’s newspaper closed quickly and she heard him rise from his chair. Once again he came to sit on the bed. His kisses were on her face, her lips, mingled with salty tears. “You stubborn woman,” he said. “Ich lieb dich . . . still, I love ya so.”

  The midwife spoke again, encouraging her to birth the babe before giving in to the sinking end. “I’ll help ya through this hard valley.”

  “Oh, Mamma . . . no!” Leah sobbed and the bed trembled.

  Leah’s tearstained face became less and less visible, but Ida continued
to hear the dear girl’s voice. Lizzie’s, too, now and then. Somewhere along the way, she knew Abram must have slipped out into the hallway. Faintly she heard his voice along with Mary Ruth’s and Hannah’s, as the sounds drifted in and out of her consciousness.

  I bless your name, Lord Jesus. . . .

  The bewildering falling sensation came, plunging her down again. Yet she knew she must cling to the thread of life, not let it slip from her grasp until she heard the first birth cries.

  My life is in your hands, Lord.

  Soon they came. Loud and pitiless, her newborn baby heralded his arrival with a strong set of lungs.

  “It’s a boy, Ida! Praise be, as healthy as they come,” announced Annie Mae.

  Thank you, dear Lord. She longed to see her baby, to lay eyes on this miracle of life. Her and Abram’s love . . . in the form of a tiny man-child. She looked but saw only blackness.

  Then, suddenly, he lay in her arms, nestling against her, moving, searching . . .

  “Mamma, can you hear me?” Leah pleaded. Precious girl . . . ever so concerned. Should she be on hand, attending the death of her mother?

  Ida nodded, though weakening as the seconds sped by.

  Oh, my motherless son . . .

  “Don’t struggle so, Ida,” said Lizzie. “Rest now. Rest . . .”

  Ida began to shake her head, back and forth slowly. No . . . no! The battle cry continued in her brain. Someone must care for this baby and his sister Lydiann, she longed to say but could not.

  Hard as she might, she fought to live now, changing her mind. She must survive to care for her only son. She must live for him to suckle, bond, be nourished . . . and he did so as she lay there. Clawing at the walls of life—her happy sweet life—she gasped for her final breaths, her very lifeblood seeping away.

  “I love you, Mamma,” Leah said, lying down on the bed.

  She felt the warmth of Leah’s slender body and her loving arms slipping beneath her, cradling both her and the baby.

  “I’m here . . . right here with you,” Leah said quietly.

  Ida could scarcely whisper, “Raise him as your own, Leah. Lydiann, too.”