The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,41
He was so tiny. I used to hold his bottle for him.” She paused. “That’s all I know. Everything’s hush-hush around here. You wouldn’t believe what my mom won’t talk about.”
Yes, Ella, actually I would.
“Such as?”
Ella grimaced. “Well, that’s the thing when someone won’t talk. You really have no idea what they’re keeping from you.” She continued. “Everyone thought Mom was crazy for adopting Zed, her being a single mom and all. I think maybe that made her hesitate to talk about things.”
A sheepish look flashed across her features.
“What?”
She laughed. “I guess the less I knew, the less everyone else knew. I was kind of a gabby little girl.”
I smiled. That wasn’t hard to imagine. “When did your mom become a single mother?” I hoped it was okay for me to ask that.
“My dad left sometime after she brought Zed home.”
My heart fell a little. “Oh, Ella. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
For a fifteen-year-old it was a long time ago. But not for Marta.
“My mother died when I was eight. I still think about her every day.”
“That’s just it,” Ella said. “I don’t even remember my dad. For some reason I can remember Zed as a baby, but I have no memories of my father.”
I inhaled. That would be so hard. “So he was Mennonite?” I ventured, assuming Marta had married into the faith.
“Originally, he was Lutheran—something like that. Protestant, anyway. Both Mom and he became Mennonite when they married.”
“Do you know why he left?” I knew I was pushing, that I probably shouldn’t be asking a teenager such a personal question.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Oh, you know, Mom said, ‘Life just got to be too much for him.’ Things like that, but I really have no idea.”
We reached the bridge and walked to the middle over the creaking weathered boards and stopped. The rafters of the bridge were bare too, unlike the whitewashed sides.
The creek was high and the water flowed around the rocks. Downstream at the bend, on a rise, was an Amish farmhouse.
Ella kept talking. “I don’t even know my dad’s parents. I’m guessing they’re dead.”
“How about your mom’s family?” I hoped my voice was steady.
“I have an aunt and uncle. And a cousin.” She stole a glance at me. “And there’s Mammi.”
“Mammi?”
“My grandma. She’s Amish, so we use their word for it.”
“She’s Amish?” I repeated dumbly. “Your grandmother is Amish?” Was it possible that I had been born into an Amish family?
“Yeah, Mom grew up Amish too, though she never joined the church. Why? What’s the big deal?”
“Nothing,” I said, trying not to look so stunned. “It’s just funny that your mom didn’t tell me when we were at the Amish houses.”
“Well, now you know how little Mom actually says to anyone. She lives in baby land. Nothing else matters.”
“Did your mom tell you I’m adopted?”
“Of course not.” Ella held her hands up as if she’d just proved her point.
“I’m from Oregon, but I was born in Pennsylvania.”
“And you’ve come to find your birth family?” Ella’s eyes brightened.
“Partly,” I said, trying not to sound desperate.
“That’s what I would do. I’m always telling Zed I’ll help him find his birth family, but he’s not interested.” Ella tugged on the ribbons of her bonnet. “I could help you.”
My heart lifted. “We’ll see.” I didn’t want to sound too enthusiastic about what I’d been fishing for all along.
“Where would we start?”
“The house on the carved box. Do you remember where you saw it before?”
She clasped her hands together. “It was a long time ago.”
“And?” I prompted her.
“I’m not sure now. It may have been a picture that I saw.”
“Oh.” I’d been thinking she’d seen the actual house. Maybe Marta was right about Ella being fanciful.
She nodded. A pigeon flew down from the rafters of the bridge and I startled. Ella laughed.
“Tell me more about your aunt and uncle,” I said, trying to keep her talking, hoping she would be more forthcoming than her mother had been.
“Klara and Alexander?”
My head jerked to attention. “Alexander?” I whispered.
She nodded.
His name was Alexander. My name was Alexandra. Could there be a connection between our names, between us?
“I’d like to go see them,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. Suddenly, I felt cold inside.
Ella shook her head. “My cousin and Mammi have been sick. Besides, if you think Mom is closed mouth, you should see my Aunt Klara. She hardly opens her lips to say hello, let alone talk about anything important.”