The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,61

sixteen years. As other groups of people had fewer and fewer children, the Amish kept their average of seven per family steady. That was a lot of babies. I’d also read that fewer Amish kids today than ever before in their history left the church. I thought of Ezra Gundy and wondered if he was on track to join the Amish church as well. If so, judging by his non-Amish haircut and flirtatious behavior, I had a feeling it wouldn’t happen anytime soon, that he was more concerned with sowing some wild oats right now.

The young woman handed me my bag, and I thanked her.

“Best wishes,” I said as I headed to the door.

“Ya,” she answered. “And to you.”

From there I turned onto the highway toward Strasburg, thinking I would take the route I was most familiar with back to Marta’s, but when I realized I’d missed my turn, I kept on driving, heading toward Klara’s. I stopped alongside the road, hoping the blackberry bushes along the fence line would hide my car, even though they were just brambles at this time of year. I scooted over to the passenger seat and aimed my camera out the window and through a hole in the vines. I snapped a series of the house, first wide-angle shots, and then close-ups of the balcony, the molding along the roofline, and the porch. I took photos of the section of the daadi haus that I could see, and then I zoomed in on the rounded shape of the bare branches of an oak tree in the front yard.

Off to the side were a few fruit trees, probably apple. As I photographed those, I was startled when a man appeared in my viewfinder. He was middle aged, most likely Alexander.

If he wasn’t my father, why else would Giselle have named me after him? Maybe he had been helpful to her before I was born. Maybe he and Klara had even taken her in and that was why she’d named me Alexandra, as a thanks to them, and then it was Mammi who insisted on giving me up. I shivered.

If he was my father, I realized that with this recent information he would also be my uncle. I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. My speculations sounded like a country western song. Clearly Giselle had become pregnant outside of marriage, and that was no doubt frowned upon by the Amish, but there was no indication of any scandal. She’d probably had a wild rumschpringe, that period of life when Amish teens were given more freedom and allowed to explore the outside world prior to joining the church. Though pregnancy wasn’t the norm during rumschpringe, it certainly couldn’t be unheard of, either.

The man turned his face toward me as I snapped another photo. I hadn’t meant to get his front but I had. He was still in my viewfinder and looking straight at me. Maybe he could see the car, but there was no way he could see my face. I clicked the view button, enlarged the image, and looked at the photo I’d just taken. He had a dark, full beard with streaks of gray. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes. He wore a straw hat, black pants with suspenders, and a blue shirt. He looked similar to every other Amish man I’d seen. I raised the camera again, gasping when I realized he was walking across the field toward me.

I panicked. Suddenly, I felt like a little kid in trouble. Shamed, I climbed back to the driver’s side, started the car, and pulled onto the highway, glancing behind me a moment later. The man was jogging toward the fence line, watching me go with a questioning look on his face.

I spent the rest of the morning in downtown Lancaster, taking photos of old buildings.

Sunday morning, Ella asked if I would give her and Zed a ride to church. I rolled toward her in my little bed. “What about your mom?” I asked sleepily.

“She’s fasting and praying today in her office.”

I yawned. “Are you sure you want to go?”

Ella’s voice sounded hurt. “Yes.”

“Zed too?” I focused on her. She was already dressed.

“Yes.” She stepped back onto the landing. “We need to leave in half an hour.”

I propped my head up on my elbow. “Can I wear jeans?”

“Wear whatever you want.” For a split second she sounded like Marta.

Their church was in Lancaster, a few blocks from Esther and David’s house. The parking lot