The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,89

file Susan Eicher’s chart and found my aunt scrubbing the walls, even though I was pretty sure she’d sanitized the place, top to bottom, just the week before.

I explained that Susan needed more support. “No problem,” Marta said. “I’ll get a message to her bishop. His wife will organize some meals and help around the house.”

I inhaled, impressed at how simple that had been. Then I told her I’d come from Ada’s. “I’m really curious about Alexander.”

Marta wrung out the sponge. “We already had that discussion.”

“Then why do Ada and I look so much a like?”

“You tell me. You’ve studied genetics more than I have.”

Genetics. Marta was short and squat. Klara was tall. So was Mammi, or so I’d been told all those years. Zed and I, cousins with no shared genetics, looked more alike than Ella and I did, who were blood relatives. But there was something more with Ada. Something closer, I was sure. She had to be my half sister.

I sat down at Marta’s desk. I’d try another subject. “So, were you surprised Klara paid your bail?”

She shook her head. “It’s what Mamm, if she were able, would have done.” She started scrubbing again, moving her arms up and down, both hands on the sponge. Maybe the motion opened up the synapses in her brain to her speaking ability. “Klara and I were close when we were little.” She sighed. “We were close when we lived in Indiana, especially after our father died. She was like a surrogate mother because Mamm had to work so hard. Then, when we moved here, it was Klara who looked out for me…”

She said they had a dairy farm in Indiana, but their father wasn’t much of a businessman and mismanaged his profits. “He was a mean man. My memories are of him yelling at or whipping Giselle. She couldn’t do anything to please him.”

I shivered, trying not to picture it.

“Anyway, our father was killed when the hitch on the wagon broke and his horses dragged him to death.” The family lost the farm after that, and Mammi decided they should move to Lancaster County, to live with her much older brother who was a widower. He needed someone to look after him; they needed a home to live in. The arrangement worked well for few years—until he died.

“So, you can see, we had to take care of each other,” Marta said. “Klara was a good big sister to me.”

“And what about Giselle?”

Marta stopped scrubbing for a moment and then started again, with more vigor. “At one time,” she said, “Klara and Giselle were the best of friends.”

I let that sink in for a moment and then asked where she thought Klara got the money for Marta’s bail.

“I have no idea,” she answered. “It’s not my business.”

My guess was that it was from the sale of Amielbach, but maybe Klara and Alexander had saved that much over the years.

“Did the house that Klara lives in belong to your uncle?”

“It belonged to his deceased wife’s family,” she answered. “Mamm rented it for a few years and then bought it.”

That would explain why she sold the property in Switzerland. But surely it was worth far more than a farm in Lancaster County.

Marta dropped the sponge into the bucket. “I need to go check on Zed’s homework and start dinner,” she said. “I hope I’ve given you enough information to satisfy your curiosity.” With that she picked up the bucket and hurried through the door.

I shook my head. I had a feeling she had given me the information on purpose. Nothing Marta did was by accident.

The night in jail seemed to have been a wake-up call to Marta. She was much more attentive to her children, hovering over Zed’s homework and grilling Ella about her plans for the weekend. She heated the casserole Alice dropped by the day before and made a salad from a bag of vegetables from a church family. I wondered if, as she worked, she thought what life might be like for her children if she was found guilty and sentenced.

It wasn’t until after dinner that Marta finally went upstairs and I had a chance to ask Zed if he’d had another email from the man in Switzerland. He hadn’t. I decided to go to the coffee shop and check my email and the adoption registry. As I drove, I had the urge to call James and tell him about Ada, but he was away at the group home retreat.