The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,49

never would have guessed by how all of them acted. What other secrets could these people keep?

“Are you okay?” Hannah’s voice was full of compassion.

I held up my head. “I’m fine. Just caught off guard, that’s all.” I gathered up my things and followed Hannah into the kitchen.

“How about a cookie?” Alice asked.

I sat down beside Rachael at the table. Soon a plate with a cookie on it for me and glasses of milk for the girls appeared. The three little girls all exclaimed, “Danke, Grossmammi!” in unison.

My thoughts returned to the Gundy family. Even as they were all still mourning the death of a mother and infant son, there would be two new babies in the family soon: first Hannah’s and then Sally’s. I imagined upcoming holiday dinners around the very table where I sat. The laughter. The teasing. The good food. The devotion to one another. The extended family all together, from the great-grandmother to the smallest little one. In a word, I was jealous.

Marta, Hannah, and Alice moved away from the table. “How is Will?” Marta asked quietly.

I couldn’t hear Hannah and Alice’s response because Rachael chattered away, mostly in words I couldn’t understand, and the twins responded over and over with, “Ya, ya.”

But then the girls quieted for a moment.

“He wants to see you,” Hannah said. That I heard quite clearly. “But the district attorney told him not to. It’s forbidden.”

Marta nodded. “So I’ve heard.” She walked to the back door and lifted her coat off a peg. “Well, Hannah, you’ll have another appointment in two weeks and then after that every week until the baby arrives.”

She smiled. “I will be ready. So will Rachael.”

The girl turned toward her mother and smiled at the sound of her name.

I told the little ones goodbye and thanked Alice for the cookie. Rachael climbed down from the bench and scurried across the tile floor, taking my hand. “Come again?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said.

Hannah stood beside her grandmother, looking the picture of perfect contentment. Yet I knew she must still be full of grief. Her sister-in-law had died just before Dad did, less than two months before. But her grief was unexpected, doubly so. I envied her contentment, her acceptance. And envied her grossmammi standing so stoically beside her, helping her with her daughter and nieces.

I imagined all of them planting the impatiens after we left. I had the urge to ask if I could stay and help, but it was interrupted by the back door flying open. A tall man with the Gundy red hair and a full beard stood in front of Marta. He looked more like Ezra than John, but he was much larger than both of the younger men.

He took off his straw hat and looked down on Marta. “I hoped I’d see you.”

“Will,” Marta said. “How are you?”

“My soul is well. My heart…well, you know.”

She nodded and reached for his hand. “I know the DA told you not to talk with me—”

“And I won’t. Not about the case.” He clucked his tongue. “Although I do not understand this. I asked the detective to leave well enough alone, including burying her in peace without an autopsy, but he said it’s the state that is bringing charges, not me. I told him you told us to go to the hospital and that I listened to Lydia when she refused. It was my fault as much as hers, but certainly not yours.”

“Don’t talk that way,” Marta said. “Just tell the grand jury what happened.”

“That’s just it,” Will answered. “Some things in life happen, they can’t be changed.”

I couldn’t help but question Will’s philosophy. If people acted in responsible ways, most tragedies could be averted. Not all, of course, but most.

Rachael stood to the side watching her uncle, while the twins had turned around on the bench and were balancing on their knees.

When Will exclaimed, “Where are my girls?” all three came running as if they had been waiting for his cue, giggling as they did. He swept them into his arms and then asked, “Where’s Christy?”

“Resting,” Rachael answered. “Grossmammi said for us not to bother her.”

He peered over the three blond heads at his grandmother.

Alice shrugged. “She’s having another hard day, that’s all.”

He nodded and then squeezed the girls until they squealed. “I still have my joy,” he said to Marta. “God is still gut.”

“Ya,” she answered, but I thought I detected a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Speaking of, how is Klara and Alexander’s only joy? I