The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,58
that she had been reading it, but with me in mind. She was never one to meddle—until now.
My phone began to ring. It was James. I tripped over my words as I spilled out what had happened.
“Wow. How are you feeling?”
How did I feel? Anger swept over me. He’d known all along they would reject me. “Why did you let me come?” I demanded.
“Lex. What’s going on?” His voice was annoyingly patient.
“What’s going on?” My voice was shrill now. “Marta is my aunt. Her sister Giselle is my birth mom. That’s what’s going on. But she won’t tell me any more than that.”
“Who won’t tell you any more?”
My anger surged. “Marta.”
“Maybe she will if you give her some time.”
I sat up straighter against the tree, the jigsaw bark of the trunk against my back. More time? Maybe James was dating someone else. Maybe he didn’t want me to come home. “I don’t want to find my birth mom only to be rejected by her too.”
“There are worse things than being rejected.”
“Like?”
“Not being loved.” His voice was low and deep.
“Aren’t they the same?”
He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “No.”
I thought about that. I didn’t agree. “I’ve got to go.”
A minute later I texted Sean: Are you still available for dinner? Let me know when and where.
Where was a Thai place in downtown Lancaster not far from the hospital. When was eight thirty, but before I met Sean I cut across to the Lincoln Highway and stopped at a coffee shop whose sign advertised free wireless Internet, a place called the Morning Mug. I had ten minutes of Internet time before they closed. I turned on my laptop and ordered a cup of herbal tea. Immediately I logged onto the adoption site where I’d registered before I left Portland. I was supposed to get an email if anyone responded to my post, and so far I’d had nothing. First I clicked on to “Lantz,” now that I had a name, to see if there were any postings concerning me, but still there was nothing.
“We close in five minutes,” the barista called out to me. I was the only customer in the shop.
I ignored him and clicked into my account. A second later a posting box was in front of me. I’d skimmed my previous posting with my birth date and location. Now I wrote: “Birth mother’s name is Giselle Lantz.” I hesitated. Should I add that Giselle was Amish?
“We’re closing,” the barista said, standing at the counter with a bar towel in his hand.
I added, Birth mother’s family is Amish and from Lancaster County, PA, hit “publish,” backtracked to the Google home page, and then typed in whitepages.com. I quickly typed in Lantz, Giselle, PA. There was one match, located in the town of Emmaus. No address was listed, but I jotted down the phone number.
“We’re officially closed.”
“Thanks.” I slipped my computer into my case and grabbed my tea.
Downtown Lancaster wasn’t exactly hopping on a Friday night, and I found a parking place without any trouble. Sean met me at my car and gallantly opened the door for me. He must have showered at the hospital because his short hair was still damp and he smelled of cologne. He wore a blue dress shirt that complemented his eyes, a tailored jacket, nice jeans, and leather shoes. I slung my Coach bag over my shoulder, and as I stepped from the car, he placed his hand on my elbow and kept it there as we walked. I liked that.
Over spring rolls, red curry, pad Thai, and hot tea, I told him about my day. He listened attentively, nodding in sympathy. I ended by saying I had no idea what I should do, if I should flee to Philadelphia or go back home.
“I hope you don’t go back to Oregon. Not when we’re just getting to know each other.”
“You probably say that to all the midwives who stumble into your hospital.”
“Probably.” His eyes danced playfully.
He asked me about Marta, and I said as far as I knew the autopsy report hadn’t come back yet, and that it seemed to be what was holding up the grand jury.
His eyes brightened even more. “Ooh, an autopsy.”
I understood his interest. It would sound absolutely morbid to the average person, but just as James obsessed about the motivations of the mind and psyche, we medical people couldn’t get enough about why a body would do what it did.