The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,42
Alexander. What is he like?”
“Nice, but he pretty much defers to Aunt Klara. Everyone’s afraid of her.” Ella paused. “Except Mom’s not. And I guess I’m not really either.” She poked her head farther over the rail and then said, “We should head back. I still need to make dinner.”
As we stepped off the bridge and back onto the pavement, Ella asked, “What do you know about your birth family?”
“Nothing,” I answered. “The box is all I have. And a letter written in German.”
“No birth certificate?”
“Just my Oregon one.”
“Your adoptive parents never gave you any more information?”
I shook my head. “There’s just one more thing I’ve been told.” I paused. Did I have any right to bring Ella into this further?
“Which is?”
We were on the shoulder of the lane and a big pickup truck rounded the corner toward us. We both leaped to the side.
“Lexie?” Ella looked straight at me.
“A friend in Oregon thinks your mom knows my biological family.” I exhaled slowly. “In fact, this friend Sophie thinks your mom might even be related to me.”
Ella grabbed my hand and squeezed it as we stepped back onto the lane. “Really?”
I nodded.
She put her hand to her mouth.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just that—” She dropped my hand. “I think I know where to start.” She started running, her black shoes slapping against the asphalt.
“Ella!” I called out, following her. “Wait!” I didn’t want her confronting her mother. I wanted to be the one to do that. But though I was in good shape, I was no match for this fifteen-year-old wearing a dress and bonnet, flying up the hill.
TEN
I muttered “Alexandra and Alexander” as I came through the door. Was Ella’s uncle my father? If so, and if he had sired me out of wedlock, that could explain Marta’s determination not to answer any of my questions.
Not my place to talk about it indeed.
I heard voices upstairs but couldn’t make out the words. Zed was still on the computer. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“Fine.” He met my gaze for half a second and then turned away.
I sat down on the sofa in the living room, feeling that I should go pack my things—surely Marta had found someone else to help her—but I didn’t want to go upstairs. A few minutes later Marta called down the stairs. “Zed, go feed the chickens.”
He bounded right up and hurried out the back door.
Marta started down the stairs, followed by Ella. “You had no right,” she said, her hazel eyes piercing through me, “to share your desires to find your birth family with my daughter.”
I stood and held up both hands, wishing she would calm down and wondering how to make her understand that I was willing to do whatever it would take to get to the truth.
“Ella says she has an uncle named Alexander,” I explained evenly. “My name is Alexandra.”
Marta took the last step. “And you think the similarity between your name and his are more than coincidental?”
I nodded.
“You’re being fanciful and you are setting a bad example for my children.” She stood a foot from me now.
Ella stepped out from behind her mother and said, “But Lexie has a right—”
“Right?” Marta turned toward her daughter. “Is this what they teach you in public school? Rights instead of respect? Questioning instead of trusting?” Her intensity landed on me again. “Lexie, please tell me, did you have parents who loved you?”
I nodded.
“And cared for you?”
I nodded again.
“And raised you to know the Lord?”
I nodded a third time.
“And it seems as if they recognized your gifts and encouraged your education and dreams.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
“B-because,” I stammered, “I want my story.”
Her eyes drilled me as she exhaled. Then she stepped past me, brushing my arm as she did.
I stood in the middle of the living room, feeling both guilty and frustrated. Ella collapsed onto the bottom stair.
Marta was in the kitchen now. I heard a pot bang against the stove and the water run. Then the phone rang once.
I sank down onto the sofa and listened to the snippets of conversation I could make out.
“How far apart are the contractions?” Then, “Oh, dear.” A minute later, she said, “I’m sending my assistant.”
I groaned.
In no time Marta was standing over me. “I have a mother in labor. And she’s a month early.”
“And?”
“And Ella will go with you to show you the way.” She turned toward her daughter, who was still sitting on the bottom step. “Sleep