The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,28

sound the warning that I had come to town despite having been told to stay away?

“You should leave,” the girl whispered.

“I really need to talk to your mom.” I kept my eyes and ears focused on Marta.

“I’ve never seen her like this.” The girl’s voice was confidential now, and that caught me by surprise. A door banged to my left, and I looked over my shoulder to see that the boy had gone back into the cottage.

Still outside by the other building, Marta began pacing back and forth as she talked. I took another step forward, listening intently.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” She stopped and turned her head upward, toward the treetops. “But I have a mother in labor.”

Ah. So she wasn’t talking about me, but about her suspension.

“Maybe I can help out,” I said softly to the girl.

“I doubt it.”

I looked again at the short, plump figure in the distance, her face still tilted upward. Was she praying? Cursing? Hoping? “How long will the suspension last?” She closed her eyes. “I see. Well, keep me posted.” At that, she took the phone from her ear, pressed a button, and continued the rest of the way into the building without so much as a backward glance.

“Please leave,” the girl pleaded again once the door had fallen shut behind her mother.

I shook my head. Moving slowly to give Marta time to cool off, I started toward the little building myself. When I reached the door, I gave it a single rap, twisted the knob, and opened it. As I stepped inside, I half expected to find Marta in the midst of some sort of tantrum, maybe tossing around some files, or upending a chair. Instead, she was sitting at a plain wooden desk, talking into the phone again, her eyes on a chart that was open in front of her. From her much gentler tones, I decided that this conversation was with someone different than the last.

“How far apart?” she asked. Whatever answer she got, it wasn’t one she wanted. “All right. Hold on a moment, please.” Grimly, Marta put a hand on the receiver, lowered the phone from her mouth, and looked up at me. I thought she was going to speak, but instead our eyes simply held for a long moment. Finally she raised the phone to her mouth again and spoke. “I’ll be right there,” she said. Then, still maintaining our gaze, she added, “Oh, and I’ll be bringing an assistant with me.”

SEVEN

Marta drove. I didn’t speak. I barely breathed. I was ecstatic that she’d asked me to help her and still afraid she’d change her mind. It was the foot-in-the-door that I needed. She sped over the covered bridge and up the lane. At the main highway she turned left, away from Strasburg. I took my camera from my pocket. The highway dipped and ahead, in a valley that looked as if it had been scooped out of the landscape, were lush fields and an occasional stand of trees. White houses and barns and outbuildings peppered the scene. I snapped a couple of photos and then kept my nose to the window. Finally, I asked the status of the mother in labor.

“Thirty-six years old and it’s her seventh child,” Marta said. “Barbara’s been in labor for a couple of hours.”

Five minutes later, Marta pulled into the driveway of a farmhouse and stopped behind a carriage parked in front of a garage.

“Mamm’s in the kitchen,” an Amish girl called out to Marta, swinging a basket of eggs. She wore a black apron over a magenta dress. A younger boy, maybe eight, ran past her, toward the barn. “Go help Daed. The milking can’t wait!” she called after him. The boy made a face and zigzagged on his way.

Marta grabbed a black bag from her trunk and strode toward the back door after the girl. I followed, suddenly feeling as if it were my first birth, not baby number 256.

A refrigerator stood just inside the kitchen door. I did a double take. So much for what I’d heard about the Amish not having electricity. The mother, who didn’t look much older than I, stood at the counter next to a stove. “I was just hoping to get dinner in the oven,” she said. She had on a white nightgown and a cap and smiled as Marta introduced me, but then she held up her hand and leaned against the counter. Marta stepped behind her and rubbed