her in God’s hands.”
“And the nurses’ and doctors’ hands,” I added.
David gave me a harsh look. “And who do you think guides those hands, heals their patients? God. Only God.”
I met his gaze.
“Lexie Jaeger,” he said to me, “I wonder if you have not encountered much sorrow in your life.”
I was taken aback by his question. I’d been abandoned by my birth mother. Mama had died when I was eight. My father had died just recently. “Yes,” I told him. “I have encountered sorrow.”
“And did it make you trust Jesus more?”
I looked away, heat creeping into my face. Could David tell it had done quite the opposite, that my sorrow had made me determined not to trust anyone but myself?
“My sorrow has made me trust Christ. My parents, my seven siblings, and my grandparents all died before my eyes. I trusted Jesus with them and they are in heaven. We will trust Him with our daughter.”
I glanced at Esther. She had one hand on her baby and another one in the air. Her eyes were closed as she sang softly.
“Please pray for Caroline,” David said. “Please trust God with her.”
I left the hospital in a daze, David’s words echoing in my mind. When I reached the car, I climbed in and simply sat for a long time, marveling at the odd sensation inside my chest, the slow melting of a heart that had been frozen solid for years.
I prayed right there. Then I texted Sophie to ask her and all of the church members to pray. I texted Marta. I texted Ella because I knew she would soon be out of school. I texted James. And Ada. I thought of all of us praying, all of us connected. All of us thinking about baby Caroline and Esther and David and little Simon at the same time. As I started up the car and drove away, I asked God not to let Caroline die… because I knew she could. I knew babies did.
Caroline was baby number 258; baby number three in Lancaster County. I wanted her to live. Esther and David had already lost so much in life. I didn’t want them to go through the sorrow of also losing their little girl.
Marta stayed with Simon, and I went ahead and saw three late afternoon appointments and then called the traveling nurse agency, apologized, and withdrew my application. I had no idea where I would land next, but I did know that I wasn’t done in Lancaster County.
Before we ate dinner I said the blessing—out loud, the way Dad had done when I was growing up—and asked for healing for baby Caroline. Ella and Zed both said “amen” with me. We were pretty somber as we ate. Marta called a little after nine to say that Esther was spending the night at the hospital, but that David had come home to be with Simon. Marta was staying over, though, so David could go back first thing in the morning or even during the night, if need be. She said Caroline was still on oxygen.
I had a text from Sophie, asking how the baby was doing and then one from James, asking the same. I still hadn’t heard from Ada about the DNA test. I would have to call Sean in the morning and ask him to get a hold of his friend to cancel our appointment.
Right before bedtime Zed called me into the dining room. “I heard from the guy in Switzerland,” he said, looking up from the screen. “He says he talked with the Giselle lady he knows. He said she reacted when he asked if she used to live in Pennsylvania but wouldn’t give him any information.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said. It had to be Giselle. Avoidance was a family trait. Feeling weak, I slid down onto a chair.
“I emailed him back and asked him what last name the woman goes by. I also asked him if he would ask her for her email address.” He glanced down at the screen and then back up again, squinting a little. “Maybe I can chat with her directly.”
I wanted to hug him but settled for patting his back.
When I crawled into my alcove bed, I prayed that somehow, someway Ada would be willing to get tested. Then I prayed again for Caroline. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, my phone rang. It was James.
I answered with a sleepy hello, and he asked how Caroline was. I gave him an update.