The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,35
away all together?
The Anabaptist movement, of which the Amish, Mennonites, Brethren, Dunkers, Hutterites, Apostolics, and more all belonged, had begun in Switzerland in the 1500s during the Protestant Reformation. The word Anabaptist meant, literally, “second baptism” and had risen out of the belief that God intended baptism to be not for infants but instead for adults, ones who made a conscious decision to follow Christ. This position put them in direct violation of State dictates, but they stood firm on their belief, which resulted in imprisonment, martyrdom, and finally a movement that grew strong and spread and splintered and spread some more.
I sighed. If Marta expected me to learn all the ends and outs of the Amish—which I surmised probably made the Mennonites look simple by comparison—she was crazy.
“The Amish really are a separate culture, one you need to be willing to understand,” she said.
“Yeah, well…” I turned my head toward Marta and caught her looking at me.
She turned her eyes back to the road. “I’m serious, Lexie, when you work with the Amish you need—”
“Whoa!” Work with the Amish? Where did she get off assuming I was sticking around? “Listen, Marta, it’s been fun helping you out and all, but what I really need is some information. Sophie thinks you know about my biological family. She thinks… she believes you and I might even be related.” I didn’t add that judging by hers and Ella’s reaction when they met me yesterday, I was feeling pretty sure of that myself.
“How long can you stay?” she asked.
“I have a job waiting for me in Philly—”
“That’s not what I asked,” Marta interrupted, turning onto the highway. “How long can you stay?”
“I have a job waiting for me in Philly,” I repeated, my jaw clenched, “and it starts in two weeks. But there are other things I need to do first, Marta. Like find a place to live. Map out my route to the hospital.” Get to the department of vital records in Harrisburg and convince someone to let me see my birth certificate.
“I don’t think I’ll need you after a day or two. You’ll be free to go then.”
News flash, Miss Marta: I’m free to go right now. What gave her the right to be so presumptuous? I leaned my head back against the seat, wondering how this woman could be so sweet and tender with her patients and so sour with me.
“How’s this?” I said finally. “I’ll give you the two days if you’ll talk to me.”
Marta missed the turn to her house. “About?” I’d never known a midwife to play dumb before.
“My birth family.”
She didn’t respond, so after a moment, I decided to throw out a question or two to show her what I meant. Holding back on the big guns for now, I decided that my first one should be relatively benign. “Tell me what you know about the house on my box. Ella said she’s seen it before.”
Marta’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “Ella’s a fanciful girl. She probably saw something like it in a picture book from the library.”
So much for holding back. I decided to go with the big guns after all.
“Who was my mother?” I demanded.
Nothing.
“Who was my father?” I persisted.
No answer.
“Are you and I related? If so, how? Are you my cousin? My aunt? My sister?”
She began shaking her head from side to side. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you here,” she hissed.
“But this is exactly why I came. I’ll stay and help, but only if you’ll answer my questions.”
She sighed loudly and then grew silent. That silence hung heavily in the air between us.
“Lexie,” she whispered finally, “it’s not my place.”
I looked away, surprised by the hot, sudden tears that sprung into my eyes. Not Lexie, I don’t know anything, or Lexie, it’s none of your business, but Lexie, it’s not my place.
I didn’t know how to reply to that. If not her place, then whose?
More tears came, and as I wiped them away in frustration, I turned toward her, ready to let her have it. Instead, I was shocked to see a single tear sliding down her check. She quickly swiped it away, composed herself, and offered no explanation. I could see she was feeling ambivalent. I was asking for information, and though she may have said no with her words, something in her wanted to say yes—or at least maybe.
Maybe, if she got to know me better first. Maybe, if I helped her out with her patients. Maybe,