The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,56

asked, turning onto the highway.

“I found it in the same place, behind the puzzles. Aunt Klara went out to check on Mammi to see if I could visit.” She paused.

“And?” I didn’t mean to sound impatient.

“In front were all sorts of names and the dates for births and deaths.” She turned toward the backseat. “Our names are in there, Zed, and our births.” She giggled. “And Ada’s.”

“And?” Now I did mean to sound impatient.

“A girl named Alexandra.”

“When was she born?” I felt as if I were underwater again and my voice was garbled, the words coming out as bubbles, bobbing to the surface.

I could barely hear Ella as she gave the birth date, the very same as mine.

THIRTEEN

We rode in silence. I slowed for a buggy. A car behind me honked. I ignored them. After a while Ella said, “I think you can pass.”

I realized the car behind me was long gone and we were on a straight stretch. I sped around the buggy.

“Are there parents listed for Alexandra?” I was practically whispering. “In the Bible?”

“No father, just a mother.” Ella looked straight ahead. “Giselle.”

“Do you know who she is?” I tried to concentrate on my driving.

“I’ve never heard of her before, but—” she stopped.

“Ella?” I tried to catch her eye.

“She’s listed as a sister to Klara and Mom. Their maiden name is Lantz.”

“We have another aunt?” Zed asked from the backseat.

Ella ignored him. By his lack of protest, I gathered he was used to it.

I locked my eyes on the road. Giselle. My birth mother’s name was Giselle. She was a sister to Marta and to Klara. A fifteen-year-old had accomplished in a few minutes what I wouldn’t have been able to do in weeks or months—maybe even years. “Was there a birth date for her?” I was choking on my heart.

Ella exhaled and then spoke quietly. “Klara was coming in through the back door, so I had to stuff the Bible back behind the puzzles.”

“Did you see Mammi?” Zed leaned forward.

She shook her head. “Klara said she was sleeping. She said I should ask Mom anyway about the family history—she knows as much as anyone. She says Mammi isn’t very talkative now.”

I shivered. Was she dying?

Even without seeing her grandmother, Ella had done great. “Thank you,” I said, patting her leg. “Have you thought of a career as a detective? Because you’re amazing.”

Ella smiled, clearly pleased with my praise.

The sun was setting now, streaking the fading blue sky with lemon yellow, pale lavender, and creamsicle orange. Ahead, a windmill was silhouetted against the scene. My heart lurched. This information challenged everything I’d ever fantasized about my birth family. I glanced down at the Coach purse on the console. My birth mother wasn’t a professional woman living in Philadelphia or Manhattan. She was, most likely, a shunned Amish woman living who knew where. It was as if both she and I, together, had been scrubbed clean from her family. Our family. I shivered.

I had a friend in middle school who used to say, “God gives us our relatives; we choose our friends.” She came from a big Irish Catholic family and was related to half the county.

I thought of her saying that now. Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have chosen an Amish family from Lancaster County. But why would an Amish family in Lancaster County not choose me? If my mother couldn’t keep me, why wouldn’t my grandmother? I’d seen how much the Amish loved their children. I couldn’t imagine Alice, and she was a great-grandmother, ever giving up Rachael, Melanie, or Matty when they were babies. I think she would die first.

“Are you sure you’ve never heard of Giselle?” My voice broke the silence.

“Never,” she said. “And I’ve never heard of a cousin Alexandra—of you, right?”

“I think so,” I whispered.

“How old is your mom?” I asked.

“Thirty-eight,” Zed answered from the backseat.

“And your Aunt Klara?” I glanced into the rearview mirror.

Ella shrugged. “I don’t know. But older, that’s for sure.” She sat up straighter. “I’ll go back and look at the Bible again.” She reached over and touched my hand on the steering wheel. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thanks,” I said, choking.

“So we’re cousins then, right?” Zed’s head was between the seats.

“Somebody’s slow.” Ella took her hand away from mine, reaching behind her to tousle her brother’s hair.

“But Mom doesn’t know?” Zed’s voice was full of confusion.

Neither Ella nor I answered him. Of course Marta knew, but I didn’t want to be the one to confirm Zed’s