my Taurus. “I’d like that.” As I pulled away from the curb, I whispered, “Tomorrow couldn’t be soon enough.” For at least half of the dinner, I hadn’t given my birth mother—or James—a thought.
But on my way home, I parked my car directly in front of the now dark and closed coffee shop, located their wireless signal, and logged on again to do a quick check of my email. It could happen, right? She could have responded already. Maybe she felt my angst, felt my need. But there was nothing.
I could call the number in Emmaus, but it was late, already past ten thirty. I would call first thing in the morning.
FOURTEEN
After a restless night’s sleep, I sat in my car and dialed the phone number of Lantz, Giselle. A man with a shaky voice answered. I asked to speak to Giselle.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “You didn’t hear? She passed on a few months ago.”
“Passed on?” I gasped.
“That’s right, sweetie.”
The man sounded ancient. Thinking about that for a moment, hope fluttered in my chest, and I asked how old she had been when she died, if he didn’t mind me asking.
“She was ninety-two. Why?”
Ninety-two. It wasn’t her! Though I felt bad for this poor old man, I was deeply relieved for my own sake. I told him I had the wrong Giselle Lantz, offered him my condolences, and then hung up, crumpling the piece of paper in my hand.
I pulled out of Marta’s driveway a minute later and drove through Lancaster County, wishing someone else was at the wheel, wishing I could snap photos indiscriminately of the farms I passed. Maybe Sean would join me sometime soon for a day in the country.
I’d asked Ella and Zed to come with me, but Marta said they had chores and then homework. It turned out the family was doing spring cleaning—scrubbing the little cottage from top to bottom. I had offered to help, but Marta said I would just be in the way and should have a day to myself.
There were a few other tourists’ cars parked at the quilt shop where I stopped, across the road from a country school. I was hoping the place sold maps. I had my GPS, but I couldn’t get a handle on the geography, where the city was in regards to the farms I’d been visited, where Klara’s place was in regards to where the quilt shop was. The young woman standing behind the counter directed me to a rack of maps. I chose one and then headed to the back room where the quilts were on display. They were gorgeous. I recognized many of the patterns from my childhood when Mama used to be part of the quilting circle at church: spinning star, country love, log cabin, autumn splendor. The poetry of the shapes and stitching matched the names. If Dad were still alive, I’d buy him one, even at over a thousand dollars. There was a baby quilt with Noah’s Ark on it, and in the far corner was a quilt that resembled mine with large blocks of mauve, blue, green, and black. It was priced at three hundred dollars.
If Dad were still alive, I’d ask him why they kept the name Alexandra. If he were still alive, I’d ask him to fly out here and talk some sense into Marta.
I headed back to the main room and looked at the trinkets. For living a simple lifestyle, the Amish sold a lot of knickknacks—refrigerator magnets, Christmas ornaments, and other souvenirs. I moved on to a table of handmade soap. The goat’s milk smelled the best. I picked up a couple of bars.
As I paid for the soap and map, I realized the young woman was pregnant. I asked when she was due. “Three months,” she answered, quietly. She didn’t seem shy—just hesitant.
“Who is your midwife?”
She said she hadn’t chosen one yet.
I told her I was working with Marta.
“Ya,” she said. “My cousin told me about you. Marta is her midwife.”
It turned out I’d seen her cousin the day before for a prenatal visit.
“How many midwives are there for the Amish?” I asked.
She said she had no idea.
“But more than two?” I was half joking.
She laughed. “There are more than fifty thousand Amish in Pennsylvania,” she said.
I had no idea. That was as many people as in the city of Lancaster.
“And,” she said, giggling a little, “we keep multiplying.”
I nodded. I’d read somewhere that the Amish population had doubled in the last