The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,99

and the BBC. I jumped over to the Oregonian website for the news in Oregon. It had been raining every day, which was no surprise. I imagined how green the trees and hillsides would be. The rhododendrons would be blossoming. Soon the roses in Washington Park, within walking distance of my apartment, would be budding too. I logged off with a sigh, feeling homeless, and took my coffee with me. It was eight forty-five. Klara should have left by now.

A buggy turned away from me as I neared Ada’s house. Two figures were in it—I hoped both Klara and Alexander. They were running late. I pulled to the side of the road so they wouldn’t see me and watched them proceed down the road, assuming if they had spotted me they would have come back to investigate.

When the buggy was out of sight, I turned down the lane. Ada was waiting for me on the front porch. She waved as I parked and stepped out to meet me. “I talked with Mamm and Daed about you. Mamm thinks you’re ‘questionable’ and a little ‘unstable.’” Ada smiled. “That’s what she said anyway. Daed didn’t say a thing. But Mamm didn’t forbid you from coming here. She just told me not to believe everything you say.”

I rolled my eyes. Klara was awfully clever, proposing I was a psych case.

“Do you want to see Mammi?” Ada asked. Clearly she wasn’t taking her mother’s opinions too seriously.

“Yes,” I responded, closing the door to the car. “But I was hoping to look in the family Bible too.”

Ada wrinkled her nose. “We don’t have one.”

“Ella said you did.”

“Really?” Ada shrugged. “Ella would probably know. Did she say where it is?”

“On the bookcase in the living room, behind the puzzles.”

A minute later I had it in my hands, leafing through the first few pages and stopping at the list of births. I skimmed down the names quickly, zeroing in on Giselle, Klara, and Marta. According to the birth date listed here, Giselle would have been nineteen when I was born.

The space for listing her spouse had been left blank, as had—contrary to what Ella had said—the space for her offspring. Looking more closely, I realized that wasn’t exactly true. Something had been written in the offspring section but had since been whited-out. My frustration mounting, I shifted my attention to her sisters. Beside Klara was her husband, Alexander, and under them their daughter, Ada; beside Marta was Frederick, and under them Ella and Zed. Taking it in, the whole list looked like one big happy family—well, one big happy family and one tiny swipe of White-Out, obliterating an entire person.

Fighting back tears, I held up the page against the light from the window and was relieved to see my name there, under the correction fluid, clear as day. I told myself they could try to hide my name all they wanted, but they would never be able to hide the truth. I showed my discovery to Ada, hoping it was proof enough that I wasn’t the unstable one in this bunch, not by a long shot.

Ada stepped closer. “Who is Giselle?” she asked.

“Your aunt. My birth mother.”

“What happened to her?”

I closed the Bible. “I have no idea. I’m hoping Mammi can tell us.”

Ada took the Bible from me and slipped it into place and then stacked the puzzles in front of it again.

As we opened the door to Mammi’s and stepped inside, she turned her attention toward us immediately. The same quilt was spread across her lap, and she wore a white gown and a cap on her head. Her faded blue eyes lit up and she smiled. “Ada,” she said, her voice soft.

“Mammi.” Ada took two quick steps to her side. “This is Lexie,” she said. “She’s my cousin.”

“Your cousin? How nice.” Mammi gave me a warm smile and a nod. “Lexie, you say? Let’s see, I don’t think I remember anyone in the family by that name. You must be from another settlement. Who is your father, dear?”

That’s what I’d like you to tell me.

“Um…” I faltered, shaking my head, realizing that she didn’t understand, not at all. “You might remember me better by my full name,” I said finally. “Alexandra.”

It took a moment, but then the old woman’s eyes grew wide and her mouth moved. No words came out. She reached for my hand and I extended it, transfixed by the paper-thin skin. For the first time in my life, I looked at someone