The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,13

again skimmed the pages. “No, just that he’s sorry she did.”

“Thank you.” Disappointed, I took the pages from him. The analysis of the language was interesting, but I was hoping for more information. Next I reached for the box, but Mrs. Glick hugged it tighter.

I stretched out my arms and then clapped my hands together, as if I could command the box to come to me. “I didn’t know there were Amish in Indiana,” I said, hoping to distract her.

She stood, the box still in her arms. “They came with the last wave from Switzerland, more than a hundred years after the first group of Amish.”

“You could stop by Indiana on your way to Pennsylvania,” Sophie said softly as Mrs. Glick finally relinquished the box. “You might find some information there.”

James half stood and then sank back onto the couch, his plate lurching backward with the movement, his roll tumbling to his lap. His eyes met mine. “Pennsylvania? Lex, what’s going on?”

FOUR

I averted my eyes but knew my reddening face gave me away. “How about dessert?” I asked brightly. I turned toward the hutch and, speaking over my shoulder, said, “Mrs. Miller, your lemon meringue looks delicious.” As my guests served themselves from the top of the hutch, James shot me a questioning look. I mouthed, “Later” and turned my head away.

After dessert Sophie said she had a mother to check on and she would talk to me soon. James assured the guests that he would clean up; we both knew most of them needed a nap by now. One by one they left, telling me I was in their prayers and whispering “God bless you” as they descended the back steps, gripping the rickety rail.

That left me and James staring at each other in a kitchen full of dirty dishes.

“What’s going on?” he asked again.

I positioned the plastic plug over the drain. “I told Sophie I needed to get away, and she came up with a wild idea.” I started the water.

He pulled the plug from the drain and clutched it against his side. “You want to go away?”

“Get away. I felt that way last night.” I honestly didn’t know how I felt today—except numb. I pointed at his hand and then back to the drain. He tossed the plug into the sink.

I inserted it again and squirted out some detergent. “And then Sophie got a phone call about a midwife this morning.” I told him the whole story as I trailed my hand through the water, stirring up the bubbles.

“Why do you feel like you need to get away?” His voice was hurt as he bent down and retrieved the wooden dish rack from under his side of the sink.

I eased a stack of china into the basin and without looking at him said, “Sophie thinks I need to find my birth family.”

“Oh.” His voice was gentle now. “Are you ready for that?” James was the one who had been studying abandonment and attachment issues. I was the one who had been trying, at all costs, to avoid talking with him about those things.

My chin began to quiver as I scrubbed a plate and lowered it into the rinse water.

“Did the box bring all this up for you?” He swished the plate around and placed it in the rack.

“I’ve wanted to search since high school.”

“You never told me that.” His voice sounded hurt.

“I feel more alone than ever.”

“You have me.” His voice was tender.

I nodded.

James and I had been partners in chemistry lab in high school. Back then, he was the bad boy, partying on the weekends, smart-mouthing our teachers at school, and teasing me about my cap and modest dresses whenever we were together. His parents divorced when he was a baby, and his dad remarried and started a new family. By high school James didn’t have much of a relationship with his father at all. His poor mother was so busy making a living that James had enough freedom to get himself in trouble on a regular basis.

Though I found him intriguing—and smart, much to my relief, given that he was my lab partner—he made me nervous with his wide grin and reputation as a partyer. Then one day, several months into our junior year, he surprised me by asking if he could come over to study. I told him no. He showed up that night anyway and sweet-talked his way into the house. Dad helped us with our chemistry, something he’d been doing with me