by Leslie Gould
Judah returned sooner than Emma had anticipated, shaking the snow from his head and carrying a bundle of food wrapped inside her blankets, all tied together with a rope. He recruited the two older children to help set up the meal on the table, and they gathered around to eat. Emma managed to get Betha to eat a piece of meat and some bread and drink a cup of water. Then she gave her raspberry tea to hopefully speed up the pains.
Once the children were done eating, Judah tucked them all under a blanket on the other side of the fire, and then he disappeared into one of the stalls with his bedroll.
Neal sat back down at the table and turned the lamp to low. Usually, men completely left the room during a birth, but that was hard to do in a barn.
Finally, Betha had the urge to push. Emma hoped, since it was her fourth, that it would go quickly. But it didn’t. After an hour, the pains had only grown worse and now Betha was flat-out paralyzed from all of it. When the next pain came, Emma ran her hands over Betha’s belly, feeling the baby. The face was up.
No wonder Betha’s back hurt so badly. Emma feared the baby was stuck. There wasn’t time to go get Mamm, and Emma, still recovering from her illness, feared she wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Judah,” she called out. “I need help.”
He appeared, bright eyed, looking as if he hadn’t slept at all.
“There’s an issue with the baby,” Emma said in a low tone so Neal wouldn’t overhear. “Would you go see if Mathilde will come? Don’t ask George,” Emma said quickly. “Go straight to her shack. Make sure she brings the children.”
Judah left again. Emma was thankful he’d come instead of Phillip. She hoped she wasn’t putting Mathilde at risk, but she didn’t know what else to do.
Betha’s pains slowed, and she dozed between them. But each time one started, she cried out. The children continued to sleep, although all of them stirred and coughed fitfully.
An hour later, Betha continued to push, ten minutes apart, but it seemed the baby would never come. Emma glanced at the door, longing for Judah and Mathilde to arrive. Finally, the door opened and Mathilde stepped through holding Agnes, wrapped in rabbit furs and tucked in her cradleboard. Judah followed, carrying Baptiste close to his chest.
Emma nearly wilted, her head dipping forward in relief, until Neal stood. “What’s going on?”
“Mathilde is here to help,” Emma said.
Judah nodded. “She’s very knowledgeable.” He placed Baptiste next to the other children and sat down at the table, motioning for Neal to do the same, but the man didn’t budge.
Mathilde put Agnes next to her brother and then joined Emma and Betha on the floor. “Thank you for coming,” Emma whispered.
“I knew Judah wouldn’t have come and gotten me unless you needed me,” Mathilde replied.
Finally, Neal moved to the table, and Judah stayed there with him, their backs to the women.
Another pain gripped Betha, and again she pushed, screaming as she did, but the baby’s head still didn’t crown.
As Mathilde inched closer, Emma saw another bruise on her friend’s face, one that didn’t change with the shadows in the dim barn. She’d ask her about it later.
Mathilde said, “She should get up.”
Emma wasn’t sure if Betha would agree to that, but she took her by the hands. “Let’s try something else.” The woman cooperated.
“You rest,” Mathilde said to Emma. “I’ll walk with her.”
Grateful for the break, Emma wrapped herself up in her cloak and rested next to Agnes and Baptiste. Betha’s cries kept coming every five minutes or so. Somehow Mathilde kept her walking between her pains.
After another hour or so, Mathilde placed her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “The baby is definitely stuck. What should we do?”
EMMA CLOSED HER eyes, trying to think through what her mother would advise. Back home, she’d seen Mamm put a woman in a rocking chair to shift a baby. Or rock her hips around. One time she’d seen Mamm coax a woman onto her hands and knees. That’s what she hadn’t tried with Betha.
She opened her eyes and reached for Mathilde’s hand. Her friend pulled her up. Emma approached Betha, who was curled up on her blanket again, and put her hands on the small of the woman’s back. “You need to move to your hands and knees,” she said. “And rock forward and backward. We have to get this baby moving.” She’d been pushing for five hours now.
Betha groaned. Mathilde slid her arms under Betha’s chest, and Emma lifted her hips until they had gotten her into position. Then Emma placed her hands on Betha’s hips again and pushed forward. “Move back and forth,” she said. She then forced the woman’s hips from side to side. “And sway as you do.”
Mathilde bent down in front of Betha and made eye contact with her as another pain started.
Betha stopped moving and started to groan.
“Keep swaying.” Emma felt for the baby. As the pain continued, the baby’s head finally started to bulge.
“Keep moving,” Emma encouraged. “The baby’s shifting down.”
When the pain stopped, Emma gave Betha more of the raspberry tea. Betha was shaking from exhaustion, and Emma and Mathilde both held her up. When another pain started, Emma told Betha to sway again. Again the baby’s head bulged but didn’t crown.
But during the next pain, it did finally crown. Emma ran her fingers around the head as much as she could, and finally the membranes broke in a rush of waters, splashing onto the dirt floor. With the next push the baby crowned again and then the head came out, face up, just as Emma had predicted. On the next push, the baby came out enough for Emma to grab the shoulders and pull it out the rest of the way. It was a boy.
And he was blue.
Emma fought back tears as she remembered her own little girl. Paralyzed, she held the baby in her hands, staring into his closed eyes. But Mathilde swept to Emma’s side, took the baby from her, and started rubbing his skin. She swiped her fingers in the baby’s mouth and then turned him upside down. He started to whimper faintly and then began to cry. His skin began to pinken.
Mathilde wrapped the baby in wide strips of cloth that Betha had ready, and then handed the baby back to Emma. Mathilde turned her attention to Betha, covering her with a blanket. Neal stepped over to the women, glanced at his son, stoked the fire, and then grabbed his rifle and headed out.
Emma glanced up at Judah, who faced them now.
“He’s going hunting,” Judah said. “To feed his family.”
Relieved, Emma nodded.
Judah stood and headed to the stall. Emma continued to hold the baby while Mathilde cleaned Betha and then gave her meat and bread to eat. Then Mathilde took the baby from Emma and put her next to Betha to nurse. The woman did what she needed to do, closing her eyes and soon falling asleep.
Agnes began to fuss, and Mathilde nursed her and then rose. “We need to go,” she said.
Emma felt dazed. “So soon?”
“Before George wakes. He’ll expect his breakfast soon.”
“Did Harriet leave for Chicago?”
Mathilde nodded.
“Is anyone else at the house with George?”
Mathilde shook her head.
Emma stood and reached to touch the bruise on her friend’s face.
Mathilde turned her head. “I’m fine,” she said.
Emma stepped closer. “Who hit you?”
“We need to go.” Mathilde knelt and wiggled Agnes back into the cradleboard.
“You don’t have to,” Emma said. “You can come home with me.”
Mathilde shook her head.
“I can come get you, then. After George eats his breakfast. I’ll take you to my parents’ place in Jackson Township.”
“George would find me,” Mathilde answered. “I owe him money. Jean-Paul signed a contract.”
“But he can’t beat and imprison you.”
“Maybe he can.” Mathilde shrugged. “I need to go.”
Emma ventured back to the stalls. “Judah,�
�� she whispered. “Mathilde needs to go back.”
Though he had likely just lain down, he was on his feet immediately.
Emma lowered her voice even more. “Mathilde has a bruise on her face.”
“I asked her about it. . . .”
“Did she explain what happened?”
Judah shook his head.
“I think George hit her,” Emma whispered. “But she won’t come home with me.”
“I’ll talk with her again,” Judah said. “And George too.”
“Denki,” Emma said, hoping he would follow through on his promise and that he wasn’t protecting George.
A couple of hours later, after the children had woken up and Emma had fed them bread and apples, Neal returned with two ducks. At least they’d have some food. Emma would bring more apples and potatoes the next day, and some milk and eggs too.
THE SNOW HAD blanketed the world entirely in white, muffling the usual sounds of the countryside. If Emma hadn’t been so tired, she would have marveled at the beauty. Instead, she leaned against Judah’s back as she rode behind him, hoping to draw some strength from him. She’d never been so exhausted in her life, not even after her own babies were born.
What if Mathilde hadn’t come to help her? What if Betha had died, leaving those children on the edge of the frontier without a mother? All alone with a father who hardly spoke. A coughing fit shook her.
Judah slowed the horse. “Are you all right?”
“Jah . . .” But she wasn’t. “What did Mathilde say about George?”
“Nothing,” Judah answered. “She wouldn’t talk about the bruise except to beg me not to bring it up with George. She said that would just make it worse.”
“He doesn’t respect her,” Emma said. “He’s hurting her, and I’m afraid it will grow worse.”
Judah’s voice grew deeper. “I know. I’ve heard of Englischers treating Native women as slaves, and then even trading the women among themselves, taking their children from them.” He sounded so honest in his concern. But was he?
She hoped so. She’d lost her children to fate—she couldn’t imagine having them taken from her. She couldn’t let that happen to Mathilde.
“Those men treat the Native women worse than they would their livestock.” Judah stared straight ahead as he spoke. “And nothing is done, not by the law or the Englischers’ communities.”
“What can we do?” She bit her lower lip.
“I’m afraid Mathilde is right that confronting George might make things worse,” he said. “I’ll check with the sheriff in Goshen and see what he can do.”
Emma thought of the verse from James, that pure religion was to visit the fatherless and widows. Surely, God wanted them to care for Mathilde as best they could.
They rode in silence for a while. Emma coughed again, and when she finally stopped, she began to cry. And then she began to shake.
“Are you all right?” Judah asked.
“I’m sorry.” How immature of her, not to be able to control her emotions. What would her Mamm say to her right now?
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “It’s all right to cry. We’ll figure out what to do about Mathilde.”
Emma cried harder. “It’s that and more. The baby could have died and Betha too.”
“But they didn’t.”
“Those children could be without a mother.”
“But they aren’t,” Judah cooed as softly as a dove.
Emma drew in a ragged breath. “I never wanted to come west, and I was right not to want to. I thought the worst of it would be living in a cabin instead of a house, cooking over a fire instead of in a stove, using a hole in the ground instead of an outhouse, and getting water from a creek instead of a pump.” Another sob racked her. “But it’s so much harder than that.”
“You’ll be back at your parents’ place soon.”
She bristled. “Who told you that?”
“Eli,” Judah answered. “I saw him in Goshen last week.”
“What were you doing in Goshen?”
“Looking at land to buy.” Judah sighed. “But I couldn’t afford anything. The price has gone up again with so many people moving here.” Judah paused. “Eli also said you two are courting.”
Emma shook her head. “That’s not true.”
“Well, maybe he said you will be once you return to Jackson Township.”
“No.” Emma’s voice shook as she spoke. “In fact,” she said, “I won’t be staying in Indiana for much longer. I’m going to go back to Pennsylvania in the spring. I just need to make the final plans.”
Judah turned his face toward her and smiled.
“You’re happy I’m leaving?”
He shook his head. “Nee. Not at all, but I am happy you won’t be courting Eli.”
Stunned, Emma wrinkled her nose. They rode on in silence. Why would he care if she courted Eli or not? He was the one who didn’t want to marry a widow.
Finally, he said, “I had an idea you might be going back. Sarah mentioned it.”
Emma’s face grew warm even in the freezing cold, remembering Sarah saying Phillip had told her. As the horse trotted along, someone shouted Judah’s name. Across a field, a rider came toward them.
Judah pulled the reins to slow the horse. “It’s George.”
Emma groaned.
“Where’s Mathilde?” George shouted. “What have you done with her?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Judah called out to him.
“I saw you on my land last night.”
“Jah, I fetched Mathilde to help Emma with a birth. I took her back this morning.”
George was only a few feet away now. He pulled his horse to stop, and the stallion grunted and blew through his nose as George sneered. “She’s gone.”
CHAPTER 21
Savannah
As Jane finished, the bell on the front door rang. “Excuse me,” she said.
I sat there, Emma and Judah and George fresh in my mind. And Mathilde. Where had she gone?
“Is Wanda here?” a woman asked.
Mammi stood and whispered to me, “It’s Catherine.”
“No,” Jane said. “Why do you ask?”
“I wanted to make sure she knew what her son did.”
My heart skipped a beat.
Calmly, Jane said, “You could stop by Wanda’s house.”
Catherine continued as if Jane hadn’t said a thing. “Kenny Miller is back in town. On his testimony, Deputy Rogers arrested Tommy for dealing drugs and trafficking girls, Miriam in particular.”
Stunned, I choked out, “What?”
Catherine turned toward me, probably happy to have a willing audience. “That’s right. He planned to take her to Las Vegas, but she escaped. No one can figure out where she went, though. She drove away in Kenny’s car last night. Tommy was arrested this morning, as part of an ongoing investigation.”
Had Deputy Rogers uncovered evidence that could prove this? I couldn’t believe it. But, again, I knew people weren’t always what they seemed. Had Tommy played me? Had I been a fool again?
I managed to ask, “Where’s Mason?”
“Who?”
“Kenny’s little boy.”
Catherine shrugged.
“Who told you all of this?”
“Vernon. He came by to speak with the bishop.”
“And why did you want to talk with Wanda?” Jane asked.
“She’s been enabling Tommy.” Catherine’s voice grew louder. “Now look what’s happened.”
Jane exhaled. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Fabric? Thread? A new pattern?”
Catherine’s expression morphed into disgust, but then she lowered her voice and said, “Jah, I do need some thread. Black. And batting.”
Mammi already had our coats in her hand. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
“Thank you, Jane,” I said. “For the quilting and the story.”
“Come back as soon as you can.” Jane
looked as if she’d been kicked in the stomach.
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “We will.”
“Mach’s gut,” Mammi said to Catherine. “See you tomorrow.”
I hadn’t thought about the Sunday service. I used to go with Mammi as a girl, but should I go tomorrow? It probably depended on what we learned later today.
When we reached the rental car, Mammi asked, “Could we stop by Wanda’s?”
“Of course.”
As I turned down the lane to Ervin’s farm, a white sedan slowed in front of me. As it parked in front of the farmhouse, the driver turned toward us. It was a middle-aged woman. I drove past the sedan and parked in front of the Dawdi Haus.
Mammi was out of the SUV before I had the engine off. I strode after her to the front door, which she opened without knocking. “Wanda!” she called out.
“I’m in the back, with Mason.”
Whew! I exhaled a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. At least Mason was with her.
Mammi led the way down the hall, and I followed into the back bedroom. Wanda stood at a changing table, pulling a sweatshirt over Mason’s head.
“Tommy’s leaving tomorrow,” Wanda said. “I begged him for one more day with this little guy.” She gave him a hug and then turned toward us.
“Catherine stopped by Plain Patterns a few minutes ago.” Mammi told her what the bishop’s wife had said about Tommy as a knock fell on the front door.
Wanda put her hand to her chest as she scooped Mason to her hip with her other hand. “Are you sure Catherine knows what she’s talking about?”
“She seemed to,” Mammi said.
Wanda turned to me. “Have you called Tommy’s cell phone?”
“I don’t have his number.”
She rattled it off. “Go ahead and call him now. It’s an emergency.”
I pulled out my phone and keyed in his number as another knock fell on the door, this time louder.
Wanda led the way back down the hall, muttering, “Who could that be?”
Tommy’s phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Wanda opened the door.
The woman from the white sedan stood in front of us, carrying a briefcase.