The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,100

else’s body part—a hand—and wondered if mine would look like that some day. When she turned toward me, I could see that the left side of her face drooped a little. She squeezed my fingers and struggled to sit up more in her chair. “Alexandra?” she whispered.

A lump wedged in my throat. I couldn’t speak but nodded, hoping she could see me.

“Alexandra?” This time her voice was louder.

“Yes,” I managed to say.

“You came back.” Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“To find you,” I said. “And the rest of my birth family.”

“Oh, dear.” She let go of my hand and tried to push herself up further into a sitting position in the chair. “Ada?”

“I’ll help.” I pushed the lever for the recliner down and then stepped in front of her, put my hands under her arms, and lifted her straight. Ada went behind her to take the pillow out from under her head, and then I put the chair back into a reclining position but not as far.

“Ada,” she said again. “Make us some tea, please.” She was in much better shape than I had feared based on Klara’s comments.

I pulled up a chair while Ada busied herself in the kitchen. There wasn’t much time for small talk, but I couldn’t just jump in with all of my questions. I started by saying that Mama and Dad had told me a little about her through the years, that according to them my birth grandmother was tall and kind and that she loved me. Listening to my words, Mammi’s eyes welled with tears, and one after another they spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away.

“I have come here now because I have questions,” I said softly, pulling a tissue from the box on the table and handing it to her.

Mammi nodded, dabbing at her wet cheeks, obviously trying to pull herself together.

“It seems Giselle is my birth mother?”

Startled, Mammi glanced toward the kitchen before answering.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Where does she live?”

Mammi shook her head.

“You don’t want to tell me?”

She nodded.

Feeling crushed, I asked, “How about my birth father?” She didn’t respond, so I added in an even softer voice, “I’ve been wondering if it’s Alexander.”

Though she didn’t seem surprised by the question, she shook her head emphatically, saying no, it was definitely not Alexander.

“Who, then?”

Mammi touched her lips with her fingertips, glancing again toward the kitchen. I sat back in the chair, my eyes still on her, wondering how badly she’d been affected by the stroke. Her mind seemed clear.

“What does it matter now anyway?” she added. Before I could answer, she continued, finding her voice. “All that really matters is that you came back. I always knew you would, or at least I hoped you would. Someday.” She lifted up a hand as if to touch my face.

I hesitated, knowing I had come here for words, not actions. Still, there was something about her expression, about the way she was reaching toward me, that pushed all other thoughts from my mind, at least for the moment. Swallowing hard, I leaned forward, allowing her fingertips to move lightly along my cheek. Though her touch was tentative, my heart pounded as if she were sending an electric jolt through my skin. I closed my eyes, all of the babies, mothers, and grandmothers I had ever worked with suddenly filling my mind. They were family to each other, connected by blood and tissue and sinew, just as this woman was connected to me. Time froze as I reveled in that knowledge.

When her feathery touch ceased, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, feeling suddenly cut adrift. I was relieved to see that though the old woman had returned her hand to her lap, she continued to study my face, to take it in hungrily.

“Meine Enkelin,” she whispered tenderly, the words striking some memory deep inside of me and causing hot tears to spring to my eyes. “So beautiful. All grown up now.” Even as she smiled with her lips, her eyes filled again with tears as well.

She accepted my offer of another tissue, and though I managed to recover quickly, she was still crying when Ada stepped into the room a few moments later, rattling a pillbox in her hands.

“Looks like Mamm forgot to give you your medication,” Ada said, giving the box another shake before coming to a stop, her smile fading when she saw her grandmother’s tears. “What’s the matter, Mammi?” She asked, bending down beside the