The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,142

we learned anything today,” I said carefully, “it’s how destructive secrets can be.”

Marta nodded, her eyes narrowing as she waited to see where I was going.

“Even though your case has been dismissed, Marta, I think you need to share this information with Connie so she can tell the DA. That may not be the safest or the smartest move, but it’s definitely the right one.”

She exhaled slowly, lowering her head. She looked so sad that I added, “I think there’s a very good chance that he’ll see the situation in its entirety and let the matter go. But if you don’t bring this to his attention one way or another, you’re always going to know that you hid a part of the truth, and it’s going to eat away at you like a cancer.”

Marta blinked, sending twin tears down her ruddy cheeks. As she wiped them away, she gave a sardonic laugh. “This from the woman who made Ella tell me about her drunken episode with Ezra. I guess I should have expected the same standards to apply.”

“They’re not my standards, Marta. They’re God’s.”

Again she nodded, and I could tell from her expression that she would do as I was urging. Before either of us spoke, my cell phone began vibrating in my pocket.

“Think about it,” I said. “We can talk later.”

She nodded, gave me a quick hug, and told me to go ahead and take the call. I pulled out my phone to see Ada’s name on the screen. Marta went on inside as I answered.

Her voice was raw and I asked how she was doing. “So-so,” she said. “Mamm, Daed, and I have been talking all afternoon. That’s been good.” She asked if I could come over the next morning. It was Sunday, but it was their week off from services. They were all asking for me to visit.

I said James and I would stop by.

Then she said, “Mamm wants to talk with you.”

I swallowed hard, not at all sure that I wanted to talk to her. But then Klara was on the phone and I had no choice. “Lexie,” she said. Her voice was soft and timid, not the way she spoke in person at all. “I wanted to say that I am sorry for how things were handled, for my part in all of it.”

I could find neither voice nor words to reply. As I stood there with my mouth hanging open, she spoke again.

“I understand if this sounds like too little, too late. I will pray for your forgiveness, and perhaps in time God will grant that prayer and soften your heart.”

Cheeks flushing with sudden humility, I swallowed hard and managed a small “thank you” in reply.

“I also wanted you to know I have Giselle’s address. She lives in Switzerland. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

Before I could respond, Ada was back on the phone, saying goodbye and that she would see me the next day. After I hung up, I went over Klara’s words in my brain. Though it would probably take some time, I would make an effort to forgive her. She was my aunt, after all, and that was the Amish way.

James rested on the sofa, and Zed was on the computer when I walked into the cottage. Marta stood behind her son. She looked alarmed as she turned toward me. “Zed has an email from Switzerland.”

“Did the man talk to Giselle?” I asked, hurrying to her side with James following me from the living room.

“No. Well, probably.” She pointed to the screen. The email was written in English. “Read it,” she said, stepping back. James stood beside me.

Dear Zed,

Thank you for inquiring after me. It is good to have word of home and information about my daughters. I am pleased they have met again after all these years. I am quite happy living in Switzerland and have found a measure of rest and peace. I think of my mother and sisters, and my daughters, often. I will think of my niece and nephew too, now that I know they exist.

I have no plans to travel to the United States. However if my daughters would like to contact me, or even come and see me, they are welcome to do so.

Sincerely,

Aunt Giselle

THIRTY-TWO

I took three copies of the email the next day. One for my aunt, one for my sister, and one for my grandmother. I also took the carved box, the century-plus letter, and the locks of hair. The photo of Dad