The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,67

cousins. Not legal cousins, I reminded myself. I had no obligation. Except that I liked them more and more every day.

“I’m sorry for all of this, Marta, but I was planning on leaving in the morning,” I said.

“So be it,” she answered.

I backed out of her office and crossed the sodden lawn. The wind and rain were blowing through the stand of evergreens. I stepped into the side yard. Zed had left the ax in the chopping block. I remembered doing that when I was about his age and then the lecture from Dad, reminding me that we needed to take good care of what we had, that it was a way of honoring God. I yanked the ax from the wood and slipped it under the tarp over the woodpile.

Later, as I settled into bed, I heard Marta knock on Ella’s bedroom door and go in. I tried to stay awake to hear any words they might exchange, but I fell asleep to the sound of the rain against the alcove window. It wasn’t until the morning when Ella came out of the bathroom, her eyes puffy and red, that I realized how upset she was about the news of her mother’s arraignment. Her whole world had just shifted.

I slipped from the bed and pulled out the carved box. I wrapped it in my baby quilt and then slid it back in the cloth bag. Next, I packed my bag. I would stop by Klara’s house and demand to see Mammi. Then I would head to the hospital to see if Sean was free for a farewell lunch. If not, I hoped he would come to Philly to see me sometime soon.

I’d had enough of Lancaster County.

SIXTEEN

Ella and Zed had already left for school by the time I finished my shower. I’d wanted to tell them goodbye, but maybe it was better this way. I’d never been very good at farewells. I lugged my suitcase down the stairs and through the living room, ignoring Marta, who sat at the dining room table with her phone to her ear and the same list from the day before in front of her. Next I gathered my computer and the bag with the box and quilt, my coat and my tote bag, and deposited them in my car. All that was left was to tell Marta goodbye.

I stood in the living room, warming my hands by the woodstove while she spoke on the phone. I purposefully tuned her out. Maybe she was still trying to recruit another midwife to help her. Maybe she’d found one, after all, and was working out the details. Maybe she hadn’t found one and was trying to cancel her appointments for the day—which would be quite a feat, considering that most Amish seemed to check their message machines in the barn only once every few days. Oh, well. It wasn’t my problem.

“Lexie?”

I stepped into the archway between the two rooms.

“I wanted to say goodbye.” The ribbons on her head covering hung loose and the rings under her eyes were more pronounced than the day before. She wore the same mauve print dress she’d had on for the last few days, but now it was wrinkled and limp. “Thank you for your help,” she said, extending her hand. I took it and she squeezed mine, and then she quickly let go. “Blessings to you and your work in Philadelphia. I’m afraid I’ll have to mail a check to you rather than pay you now. Though it might be a few weeks.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

On impulse, I gave her a hug, one she stiffly endured, though she didn’t hug me back. A minute later I was hurrying down the front steps, but something made me stop. I turned around. Through the window I could see Marta sitting back down at the table and then burying her head in her arms. In a moment her shoulders began to convulse. I took another step down the stairs and stopped again. Slowly, I turned and forced myself back into the house.

She was sobbing.

“Marta,” I said.

The sobbing stopped. “I thought you’d gone.”

“I heard you—”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was muffled. “Please go.”

“Is there something I can do? Before I leave?”

“No.”

I stepped back out the door and a few minutes later, after texting Sean about lunch, I was on my way. It was a perfect late March morning: clear, cool, and crisp, yet promising to bloom warm and bright. On the highway I slowed