An Unexpected Blessing: An Amish Cradle Novella
Author: Vannetta Chapman
Date: 2015-02-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Amish; Amish Fiction; Christian; Novella; Fiction; Christian Fiction
Description: At 42, Etta thought her time of having children was over, but she's pregnant again. She goes into labor during a blizzard, and complications with the delivery raise fear. Etta struggles to acceptGotte’s wille regarding the baby and her son, David, who moved away two years earlier in search of what he would do with his life.
Publisher: Thomas Nelson

© 2015 by Vannetta Chapman

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

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HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

Publisher’s note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-718-00190-2 (eBook)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

An Amish cradle / Beth Wiseman, Amy Clipston, Kathleen Fuller, and Vannetta Chapman.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-529-11867-7 (pbk.)

1. Amish--Fiction. 2. Christian fiction, American I. Wiseman, Beth, 1962- II. Clipston, Amy. III. Fuller, Kathleen. IV. Chapman, Vannetta.

PS648.A45A36 2015

813’.01083823--dc23

2014032853

14 15 16 17 18 RRD 5 4 3 2 1

CONTENTS

Glossary of Shipshewana Amish Words

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Reading Group Guide

Acknowledgments

Recipes

Other Books by Vannetta Chapman

Author Bio

An excerpt from In His Father's Arms

For Becky Philpott,
My friend and editor

GLOSSARY OF SHIPSHEWANA AMISH WORDS
boppli—baby
bruder—brother
dat—dad, father
danki—thank you

Englischer—Amish person
gem gschehne—you’re welcome

Gotte’s wille—God’s will
grandkinner—grandchildren
gut—good
kaffi—coffee
kapp—prayer covering
kinner—children
mamm/mammi—mom, grandmother
narrisch—crazy
nein—no
onkel—uncle
rumspringa—running around; time before an Amish young person officially joins the church; provides a bridge between childhood and adulthood.

schweschder—sister
was iss letz—what’s wrong
wunderbaar—wonderful
ya—yes

“The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.”
—PSALM 126:3

CHAPTER ONE

SHIPSHEWANA, INDIANA FEBRUARY 13

Etta Bontrager paid little attention to the north wind that howled and rocked their buggy.

Her husband, Mose, peered out the front window, his weathered hands firmly gripping the reins to their horse. Mose was nearly six feet tall and still had the muscled form of the young man she had married twenty-four years earlier. In her mind, he still was that man in every way. As they passed near a streetlight, Mose raised his hat and reset it on his head, giving her a glimpse of his dark, curly hair and receding hairline. They had both aged, to be sure; nevertheless, in their hearts she felt certain they were the same young man and woman setting out on a life together.

Etta looked past Mose to the scene outside the window. Snow swirled around them, accumulating on the side of the road in three-foot drifts. Beyond the snow was darkness. Little of the northern Indiana countryside was visible. It was as if the rest of the world had virtually disappeared under the weight of the winter storm.

She had kept an eye on the weather all afternoon as an ominous feeling of heaviness in her belly and lower back warned her that her time was near. She’d watched as the snow covered the top of the barn, the maple trees, and the hillside. The east side of the house, where they planted their family garden, had disappeared under the white blanket. The trampoline, which her children had become too old to play on, disappeared under a small white mountain. Their front porch looked like something out of an Englisch postcard.

As they rode toward Shipshewana, the temperature held steady at a numbing twenty-four degrees.

Etta was quite aware of the conditions outside their buggy this cold February evening, but she was more concerned about what was happening inside her body. Pushing the blanket down and off her lap, she swiped at the sweat running down her face in rivulets.

She tried to focus on her breathing.

She resisted the fear that insisted on clawing its way up her throat.

She pushed away the memory of that other night nine years ago.

Closing her eyes, she imagined the child in her womb, the babe she would soon hold, the babe she had thought was a mistake. Now she knew it was no mistake. Gotte had intended this child for their lives—for her and Mose. He had sent them an unexpected blessing in their later years. She did not believe this child was meant to replace Sarah. One child could never take the place of another. But God had seen fit to bless them one more time, and He would see them through.

No storm was too big.

No night too dark.

The pain washed over her, and she again began to count, panting and praying it would pass quickly. Longer contractions meant the time for their babe’s birth was closer, and they weren’t yet ready.

Not here.

Not in the middle of the country road.

Mose reached over and clutched her hand.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the worry etched on his face. “The storm is bad, ya?”

“We’ll get through,” he said.

“I’m glad you woke the girls and reminded them to keep feeding wood into the big stove in the living room.”

“They’re gut girls. They’ll take turns and handle it just fine—not that any of them would go back to sleep. They were too excited about the arrival of their new schweschder.”

“Maybe I should have stayed home.”

“Nein. Doc said you needed to be at the birthing center.”

Etta peered out the front window. They had no lights on the front of their buggy, and the streetlights revealed little—snow falling, snow swirling, snow covering everything in its path. The road itself was completely obscured. Etta had no idea how Mose managed to keep them moving in the right direction.

Rather than fret over the weather, which she couldn’t control, she prayed for the babe about to be born. She whispered a silent prayer for Sarah, who was now in heaven, and another for David, her lost child. That was how she thought of him now—not gone or vanished but lost. Finally, she prayed for their farm, that Mose might find a way to make the bank payments. She petitioned God for help so they wouldn’t need to sell the home where they had raised all of their children.

Each prayer brought heartache.

The ache in her heart over Sarah was steady, constant, familiar. The sorrow over David was fresh, even after two years. Was he safe, sheltered, and warm? When would she see him again? As for their farm, it didn’t seem possible that they might lose it. Her thoughts could hardly wrap around that fear.

The questions swirled and collided in her mind, and then her attention was jerked back to the present as the buggy tilted precariously and came to an abrupt stop. Their ten-year-old gelding, Morgan, struggled with the weight of the buggy against the heavy, wet snow, but the drift he’d stepped into was too deep.

The buggy was stuck.

A light from down the street shone into their window, and for a split second, she saw fear bleach the color from her husband’s face. Then Mose turned to her and patted her hand. “I have a shovel and lantern in the back. I’ll dig him out.”

Etta nodded, unable to respond. The next contraction was coming. They were closer together now, barely allowing time to rest in between. It was all she could do to focus on her breathing and continue to pray that this child would wait before entering the world.

Those thoughts all fell away as once again her body was flooded with pain.

She placed both of her hands on her belly, took another breath, forced back the panic, and whispered another prayer.

The contraction subsided, and she glanced to her left.

Mose was gone. He must have stepped out into the storm. The buggy wasn’t moving.

Why?

Then she remembered—the snowdrift and the sudden stop.

His promise to dig out the horse.

If there was a way through this storm, Mose would find it.

If not, they’d have the baby here, in the buggy. It wasn’t the welcome she’d envisioned for her change-of-life baby, but then often their lives did not follow the path she envisioned.

Like most people, their married life had taken twists and turns she would never have imagined when she was a young woman about to wed.

Another contraction came, consuming her attention with her energy. When it passed, she willed her body to relax, huddled beneath the blanket, and trusted that Mose would be safe as he continued to dig a path around the gelding. Etta could see him now, occasionally, as he passed in front of the light from the lantern. He was a shadow, moving back and forth, side to side, through the blizzard.

She fought to keep her eyes open for a minute, then two, and finally, she relented.

As she rested, her mind traveled back and landed on the day she’d first shared their news . . .

CHAPTER TWO

MID-OCTOBER FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

Etta adjusted her apron, which was pulling tightly in every place it shouldn’t. She would need to do something about that, but she hadn’t felt up to tackling any extra sewing projects. Until the last few weeks, she’d struggled to rise from bed in time to feed Mose and the children.

This week had been better. Finally, she felt like her old self, or her younger self. It had been so many years that she’d forgotten the surge of energy she often experienced at the midpoint of a pregnancy. It wouldn’t last, but she was determined to take full advantage of it.

She’d risen from bed before Mose and had been in the kitchen warming kaffi when he came down. He greeted her with a smile and soft kiss before trudging out to the barn to attend to the morning chores. He’d returned in time to eat breakfast with the children.

Only their girls remained at home. Their two oldest boys had farms of their own—Ben in Middlebury and Christopher, a little closer to Shipshewana proper. Two years earlier their youngest son, David, left the community.

With only the girls, the meal had passed in relative peace. Martha had described the new fabric she would be placing on the store shelves at Lolly’s. Beth had told them that business at the pretzel booth was slow, so she planned to stop by the library before her shift and pick up another book. Only Charity had complained, declaring that school was boring and she would be glad to be free of it. All three of her girls were healthy, beautiful, good Amish girls. If one of them was in her rumspringa, Etta couldn’t tell it. Not that every parent realized when their child entered that time of rebellion. For some teens, it consisted of small, quiet decisions—like choosing to own a phone or going to see Englisch movies.

Etta felt the absence of David most keenly in the morning, as he’d always been her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed child, eager to launch himself into the coming day. His seat remained empty at the table. Some families put place settings at each meal to remember the one who had left, but Etta didn’t need a plate and silverware to remind her of David’s absence. It weighed on her heart each day, and each day she prayed that he would return home. She held tightly to the promise that God would watch over each of her children and that one day David would return.

Once her family had scattered to their various tasks, the house had filled with a silence she’d grown used to. She’d spent the morning cleaning, paused for lunch with Mose, and was now beginning her dinner preparations. For a moment she stood at the kitchen window looking toward the field, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mose. Though many Amish men now worked in factories or businesses, Etta liked having Mose near the house all day. She spotted him at the far side of the field, attending to their large work horses—Abby, Babe, and Chex. All three were black. Abby and Babe were Belgians and Chex was their sole Percheron. Abby and Babe had a single white spot between their ears, stretching down to their eyes. Chex had smaller white patches from the tips of his ears to his nose.

Mose handled the three horses as if they were no more trouble than the neighbor’s dogs. In truth, the horses stood over seventeen hands high and weighed nearly two thousand pounds each. They had already harvested the larger soybean crop. Christopher and Ben had come to help with that two weeks ago. Today Mose was beginning to harvest the corn. He would work the field alone as long as the weather remained clear, which it seemed it would.

He’d grimly told her that morning that the harvest was not going to bring in the income they needed. Etta didn’t need Mose to point that out to her. She’d been watching the fields for months and realized that the growth had been stunted by a longer than usual winter and rains at the worst of times. They’d make ends meet somehow. They always did. God always provided, though sometimes not as much as they might wish for.

If Etta looked closely, she could make out Pal, their chocolate lab, sitting at the edge of the field, eyes trained on Mose. The dog was exceedingly loyal and wouldn’t even consider coming back to the house until Mose did. The afternoon sun splashed through the window, and she stood there for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the October rays against her skin.

When she heard footsteps on the front porch, she knew it would be Rachel, her neighbor, come to share some tidbit of news.

“Come in,” she hollered out as she set about mixing together the ingredients for the beef and barley soup they would have for dinner.

She had already chopped the carrots and onion, measured the barley, thyme, and oregano. The spinach leaves lay in a colander in the sink. With a twist of the wrist, she opened the jar of stewed tomatoes—one of the last ones from the previous year’s harvest. The girls had recently helped her pull this year’s vegetables from the garden. Last week had been spent canning and moving the previous year’s bounty to the front of the shelves. Her containers of garlic powder, black pepper, and salt sat beside the stove. The ground beef sizzled in the pan.

Less than two weeks ago, she’d been unable to abide the odor of cooking meat of any kind. Afternoons often found her fleeing to the bathroom. Fortunately her oldest daughter, Martha, had stepped in and helped without asking any questions.

“I have a new letter from Silas and Samuel—” Rachel stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, her fingers on her lips, the letter clutched in her left hand.

Rachel was the same height as Etta, but that was the only physical trait they shared.

Though Etta had gained a solid thirty pounds over the last twenty years, Rachel had somehow managed to keep her girlish figure, even after bearing five children, all of whom were now grown and moved onto farms of their own.

Etta’s hair was as brown as Pal’s coat. Rachel’s remained blond even as gray cropped up here and there. Eight years separated them, with Rachel being the older. She’d turned fifty the previous summer.

No one would mistake them for sisters, but after twenty-four years of living side by side, they had become the best of friends.

“Oh my.”

“What’s wrong?” Etta asked, her eyebrows arching as she continued to stir the meat. Rachel was staring openly at Etta’s stomach. Etta turned the burner off and pushed the pan toward the back of the stove. Then she moved to the sink and washed her hands, taking extra care so she would have a few moments to think of how she wanted to handle this. If she chose to ignore the subject, Rachel would let it drop. But truthfully, she was ready to talk with someone.

She turned and smiled at Rachel. “Perhaps we should have some kaffi.” She placed a lid over the pan of hamburger meat.

“Kaffi and a sticky bun?”

“I haven’t been able to abide the sweetness of it, but ya—there are several left over and you’re welcome to one.”

Etta enjoyed the simple task of filling the mugs with the coffee she’d kept hot on the stove and pulling out the milk and sugar while Rachel found the sticky bun and placed it on a saucer. The everyday jobs had brought a sense of joy to her in the last few weeks. It seemed as if everything was new and special—even the chipped mugs for their drinks and the old pitcher that held their fresh milk.

When they settled at the table, Rachel dug into the sticky bun and followed it with a gulp of kaffi.

Etta smiled. “I suppose you want to talk about our newest blessing.”

“You’re with child.” It was a statement rather than a question. Rachel wrinkled her nose, accentuating the age lines around her eyes, and took another bite of the sweet roll. Finally, she pushed the plate away. “How did I miss it? You must be—”

“I’m not sure how far along I am. My monthly cycle has been so irregular the last few years.”

“Have you felt the boppli move?”

“Ya. Kicking already. That started a few weeks ago.”

“So you’re probably five months, maybe six.”

“Six, I believe.” Etta turned the coffee mug in her hands. She enjoyed the feel of the hot mug against her skin. She’d been limiting her caffeine consumption of late, but that didn’t stop her from pouring the occasional cup. Usually she ended up tossing her mugful out onto the roses in the garden.

Rachel shook her head. “In July, when we thought you had a stomach bug—”

“Morning sickness.”

“Then in August I was certain you’d somehow caught an early case of the flu.”

“I wasn’t sure myself at the time. I kept thinking that it couldn’t be. I am forty-two.”

“Not too old—”

“Apparently not.”

“But old enough.” Rachel sank back against her chair. “I’m happy for you, Etta. You and Mose are blessed. This is a gift from Gotte.”

“So Mose said the other night, and I believe him.”

“But?”

“But that doesn’t stop all the questions I have.”

“You know about birthing, Etta. After six children you could probably have this one by yourself, not that I’m suggesting a home birth.”

Etta allowed her gaze to travel across the kitchen to the sitting room and out the front windows. The maple tree was dropping red, yellow, and brown leaves around the old wooden swing hanging from its lowest branch. “Mose hung that swing over twenty years ago. Now Noah runs to it as soon as his feet hit the ground.”

“He’s a sweet grandson.”

“Ya. That’s my point. I’m going to have a child younger than my first grandson?”

“Gotte’s wille . . .”

“I suppose.”

Rachel sipped her kaffi and studied her friend. “It’s not the age of the children that is bothering you.”

“No. It’s my age. Will I be able to keep up? I remember clearly enough the long nights when a boppli has the colic, trying to ease the misery of teething—”

“You would often come over and help me when the twins went through such spells.”

“Two of mine didn’t sleep through the night until they were six months old.”

“Christopher and David. I remember.”

Etta smiled. It seemed as if the two families were one, as if their lives had been entwined as they shared births, deaths, good crops and bad, winter storms and summer droughts. Rachel’s twins now lived in Montana. “Any word from David?”

It was one of the things Etta appreciated most about her friend and neighbor. They could talk of the things that mattered the most, the things that often remained beneath the surface of everyday life.

“Not since the message he left at the phone shack—”

“Last spring when he was in Pennsylvania. I’m sure he’s fine, or he would have called.”

Etta didn’t argue the point, but she wondered about its truthfulness. If David were hurt, how would he call? If he were homeless, he could receive help from any Amish community, but would he? After all, he’d left to sample life in the Englisch world. She didn’t think it likely that he would turn to Amish folk should he encounter trouble. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was David’s stubbornness.

“Are you worried about the harvest? Ours was less this year, though the hay crop did well.”

“Not really.” Etta glanced out the window. “We still have a little savings, though Mose is concerned it won’t be enough. Every year is difficult on a farm. Somehow it always works out.”

Rachel nodded and waited for Etta to continue. When she didn’t, Rachel pursed her lips and finally asked, “Are you worried about carrying this baby to term? Forgive me if I’m prying but—”

Etta shrugged.

“Because many of us have miscarried once or even twice . . .”

“But I didn’t miscarry Sarah.” Tears clouded Etta’s eyes, but she pushed the words, the fears, out. “She was perfect in every way, only so small.”

Now the tears fell and splashed onto her hand. She would be embarrassed, but this was her closest friend. This was the person who had patiently sat with her afterward and visited every day that Etta’s heart refused to heal.

“I remember. Gotte had a special plan for little Sarah, and it didn’t include this world.”

Etta nodded. Gotte’s wille was something they were taught to believe in, to accept, even to trust from a very young age. And she did. Honestly, she did trust her savior and Lord, but that didn’t erase the ache or the fear.

“If my guess is correct, you’re nearly as far along now as you were when Sarah was born.”

“Ya. I think so.” Etta swiped at her tears and attempted a smile. “Another month and perhaps that worry will fade.”

“It can fade now.” Rachel reached across and grasped her hand. “I will keep you and your boppli in my prayers. There’s no reason for you to be afraid.”

They sat that way for a moment until the cat scratched at the back door. “The girls taught him to do that.” Etta stood, found the leftover milk from Martha’s breakfast, and set it outside. They’d kept a chipped bowl for the small tabby and regularly left little pieces of their meal for it.

“Tell me about the twins now. If I’m not mistaken, you were clutching a letter when you walked in.”

Rachel’s twins had joined a different community in Montana. They were both married, had children of their own, and visited each winter. They wrote to their mother at least once a month, a rambling letter that usually included notes from each member of both families.

How had the years swept by so quickly? Etta could clearly remember Silas and Samuel cutting across their fields, heading home in the twilight after they’d been out fishing or swimming. The water had plastered their hair to their heads. In her memory, the boys’ laughter rang out as Etta’s girls had called out to them.

But it was clear Rachel wasn’t ready to talk about her twins. She was still focused on the subject of the new baby.

“We will help you, Etta. You won’t be going through this alone. Perhaps I could let some of your dresses out for you. I imagine you don’t have much energy left for sewing in the evenings.”

“Let them out? That worked when we were in our twenties, but I’m afraid I’m going to need entirely new dresses before this child arrives.”

“Then we best go to town and purchase some fabric.”

Instead of answering, Etta stood and resumed putting together the beef and barley soup. Rachel read the letter she’d received from the twins—full of information about their harvest, children, and a recent trip fishing for trout in the Bighorn River.

After they’d fully discussed every aspect of the letter, Rachel stood and rinsed out her kaffi cup. “I should head back home. Let me know when you want to go to town for that fabric. We’ll go together and then follow it up with a sew-in.”

“Danki.” Etta linked her arm through Rachel’s and they walked to the front porch.

“When will you go to see Doc Bennett?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t put it off.” Rachel enfolded her in a hug.

“I wanted to be sure . . .”

“And now you are, so you should go. You know with women our age, they watch for things.”

“I’ve heard . . .” Etta crossed her arms tightly, as if she were suddenly cold, though the day was a fine fall one and the breeze was from the south. “I’ve heard . . . you know . . . that they will want to do special testing, because of . . . that is, due to my age.”

“Not Doc Bennett. He might suggest it, but he won’t insist. He understands our ways.”

Etta shrugged. She wasn’t so sure. She was surprised Doc still delivered babies. He had to be in his sixties. Most Englischers retired by that age—most Amish did too, passing the bulk of work on the farm over to a son.

“They’ll watch your blood pressure and sugar levels more closely. That’s what I was referring to.”

“I suppose.”

“We’ll go together, then stop by Lolly’s to purchase some fabric.”

Etta realized there was no use arguing with Rachel. Her friend would keep after her until she agreed, and honestly, she knew that it was time to see the doctor. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in prenatal care. It was more that she’d been waiting, to be sure about her pregnancy.

Rachel hadn’t moved and wasn’t about to give up, so Etta pulled in a deep breath and smiled. “I’ll send one of the children to the phone shack this afternoon. They can call Doc’s office and make me an appointment.”

“Then send them over to let me know the day and time.”

Etta nodded. Leave it to Rachel to turn a doctor’s visit into an excursion into town. But despite her reservations, Etta found herself humming as she added the ingredients to the soup pot—mixing in the stewed tomatoes, fresh carrots, onion, barley, and bouillon granules. The day before she’d pulled thyme and oregano from the garden. She tossed it in the pot as well, along with a pinch of garlic powder, pepper, and salt.

It had helped to speak to someone of their little miracle. To think . . . another child after all these years.

She remembered the Scripture about Abraham and Sarah. Their bishop had spoken on it a few weeks ago, and Etta understood completely why they’d chosen to call the child Isaac, which meant laughter. Best to laugh with life when unexpected blessings came along.

The swollen ankles, indigestion, and birthing would be no laughing matter. But Gotte’s timing? Well, it was perfect, that she knew. Even when it was something that she could not understand.

CHAPTER THREE

Mose worked in the snow, long past when his fingers and toes had gone numb. The wind had settled, and that was a blessing for sure and for certain. The snow? It continued to fall, covering the landscape around them, even covering the top of the buggy until it looked like something in an Englisch snow globe.

He shoveled with the energy of a man much younger than forty-five. It was an energy born of desperation. In truth, the years had taken their toll. His body resisted the labor, muscles and joints screaming against the assault of the cold and the weight of the snow.

It seemed to him like only yesterday that he’d been able to lift the feed sacks for the cattle without breaking a sweat. He had tossed them from the buggy into the barn. He was a different person then.

Now his back ached as he shoveled the snow. The arthritis in his hands begged him to stop, but he thought of Etta—Etta in the buggy about to birth their next child. He thought of her and some of the aches and pain fell away, or perhaps he was becoming too frozen to notice such things.

It wasn’t his discomfort that worried him, though. It wasn’t the cold that caused him to stop and peer into the darkness. No, it was his concern for Etta. He would prefer she be in Doc’s birthing center, not a buggy, when she birthed their child.

And what about tomorrow or next week or next month? Would he have a home for his family to live in? He’d spoken to Etta of their financial situation. She’d patted his hand and said, “Gotte will provide a way, Mose.”

Maybe.

Or perhaps God’s way was for them to move on to a new place. Perhaps He was refining them, allowing them to be tried and tested.

The horse tossed his head, eyes rolling.

“Easy, boy. Easy, now.”

How long had he been shoveling? Ten minutes? Twenty? Morgan had walked into the drift, and he could walk out, but not with the weight of the buggy behind him. The buggy would have to be unhitched and pushed backward. He wasn’t making enough headway against the snow that piled up on one side even as he shoveled it away from the other.

The snow was falling heavy and fast.

He was making little progress.

He was making no progress.

Reassuring the horse one last time, he turned and trudged back to the buggy. He attempted to slide his door open, but the ice had formed a seal around it. Placing a foot against the side of the buggy, he pulled, and when that didn’t work, he faced the opposite direction and pushed. The door didn’t budge. His hands were too cold, even wearing the gloves.

So he knocked against the side of the buggy, hoping Etta would hear, but there was no answer. Perhaps she was resting between the pains. Standing next to the buggy as snow continued to fall soundlessly, relentlessly, he waved his arms, slapping them against his body, hoping to restore some feeling to his hands. Turning back to the buggy, he raised the shovel and tapped it against the edge of the door, breaking the ice. This time when he pushed the door, he managed to break the seal.

He jumped inside and pulled the door shut. The inside of the buggy was nearly as cold as outside, but at least no snow was falling on him. They had a propane heater, but he was hesitant to use it. If they were stranded here, they would need what warmth the heater could provide to survive the evening. Fortunately, they did have plenty of blankets. Also, he’d left the battery-operated lantern on, placing it on top of the buggy near the front, its light casting a dim glow around his horse. There was always the chance that someone would see their light and notice they were no longer moving.

Etta had been sleeping, and she didn’t stir from his banging on the door or jumping in the buggy. He pulled the blankets more tightly around her, and as he did, he thought of their children—fine men and women, all six of them. Even David, who had felt the need to leave, made him proud. David was a good boy, and he would find his way. It wasn’t a matter of if, in Mose’s mind, but when. He supposed that for David, life seemed much like the snowstorm outside the buggy, obscuring his path and confusing his mind.

Mose held firmly to the promise that God would watch over his children, all of his children. His heart ached over the empty seat at his table, but he wouldn’t give up on the boy. One day he would return. Mose looked forward to that day as much as he looked forward to this one, which surely would see the birth of their babe. Each of his children, even this one yet to be born, was a precious gift from the Lord.

He’d sat there for several moments before Etta startled awake. He understood too well why she sat up suddenly, her eyes darting left and right until they finally landed on him and her hands grasping her belly.

“It’s okay. Breathe through the pain.” He tossed off his gloves and enfolded her hands in his.

Etta nodded, sweat dampening her brow, and clutched his hand. They counted together in German, “Eins, zwei, drei, vier . . .” The old language settled around them, calming them, reassuring them. Babies had been born in storms before. Theirs wouldn’t be the first or the last.

He knew when the contraction stopped because she smiled at him weakly.

“A bad one?”

“Nein. Not so bad.”

He didn’t press her, though he knew the truth was somewhat different. She was trying to reassure him, and that was a good sign. The memories of Sarah’s birth were never far away. That time Etta had delivered at home, as she had with all the other children. Doc Bennett had assured them that even a hospital birth would not have saved the tiny baby.

Mose would never forget how Sarah had fit into the palm of his hand, how precious and perfect she was. Though they’d had so little time with her, his life had been touched by that trial. He’d learned to appreciate each moment, every sunrise and sunset, and each of his children—even when they were difficult and hard to understand.

“How’s Morgan?”

“Unhappy and wishing to be in his barn.”

“The storm?”

“Is worsening. I tried digging us out, but the snow falls faster than I can shovel.”

Etta closed her eyes, gathering her energy for the next contraction. “This child will be our eighth boppli, Mose, and not one of them has been born in a buggy.”

“I pray this one will not be either, but if it is Gotte’s wille . . .”

Etta didn’t answer. Instead, she began panting again and counting. How long had it been since the last contraction? Seven minutes or eight? He couldn’t be sure, but he did know the pains were closer together than when they’d left the house. And they were more intense. No doubt about it. This child would be born soon.

He waited until she once again relaxed against him. Pulling the blanket up to her neck, he whispered, “Perhaps I should walk.”

“In the storm?”

“Ya. I believe we’re between the Gingerichs’ and the Yoders’ places.”

“Not so far from the birthing center.”

“Another couple of miles.”

“Which might as well be a hundred in this weather.” Etta leaned forward, peering out into the light of the lantern. “We’re going to lose Morgan if we don’t get him out of this storm. He’s been a gut horse.”

“Don’t be worrying about the gelding, Etta. The temperature hasn’t dipped below twenty, and although the snow is falling fast, there’s little wind with it.” He wrapped his arms around her, hoping to transfer the heat from his body to hers. “Morgan is a strong horse and a hearty breed. It will take more than a February blizzard to best him. Focus your prayers on the child.”

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

But twenty minutes later he knew that he couldn’t stay. The snow fell as heavily as when they’d first stopped, and Etta’s pains were holding steady—perhaps growing even closer together.

He waited until her contraction eased, then he turned on the propane heater. If he had to leave his wife, he would not leave her with only blankets to ward off the cold.

“You’re going,” she whispered.

“Ya. Rest as much as you can. Don’t spend your energy worrying.” He gently kissed her forehead. “Persuade our dochder to wait for her dat.”

“Still convinced it’s a girl?”

“I am.”

“I’d be more likely to believe we’re about to have a boy, given how much trouble he’s giving us already.”

It was good that she could tease. He held on to that and told himself it meant she would be fine. “I’ll be back soon.”

He grabbed the horse blanket from the backseat. Before he could change his mind, he threw his shoulder against the door, pushing it open once more. He adjusted the wool scarf around his face, then walked to the front of the buggy.

Morgan was now standing silently, head down, conserving his energy to endure the storm. Mose spent another minute—another precious minute—reassuring the horse, speaking quietly and calmly as he brushed the snow off the horse’s back and covered him with the blanket. He wished he had hay to give the Percheron, but he hadn’t brought any, knowing they had a barn and feed at the birthing center.

He also would have preferred to guide the horse to the trees where he would have some protection against the storm, but that was impossible as well. A blanket and reassuring word was the best he could do. With the promise of extra feed once they reached the center, he squared his shoulders and turned south. If he was correct about their location, the Gingerich farm was closest.

CHAPTER FOUR

Etta did not fall asleep between contractions.

Instead, she forced herself to remain vigilant.

There was little she could do to help Mose or the horse, but she could pray. She could be ready for whatever happened next. She could use this time to count their many blessings and anticipate what God had in store. She refused to entertain, even for a moment, that this would be the night she would be called to her heavenly home.

As for losing the child, she’d experienced that once before, but she did not believe it would happen again. Sarah had barely begun kicking when she’d been born. This child had been kicking, turning, and even hiccupping for months. This child was strong and ready to greet the world.

Together, they would endure the night.

As she stared out at the storm, she concentrated on those things. She prayed for her husband’s safety and for the well-being of their horse. She prayed for the child soon to be born, and the nurses at the birthing center. She prayed for Doc Bennett. Finally, she prayed that she would have the strength necessary to wait and then to see her babe safely into this world.

Her mind wanted to slide back over the last several months. To when she’d first told Mose, to the children’s responses, even to her parents’ letters. She wanted to sink into those memories and enjoy the warmth of them, but she was afraid to allow herself that luxury. Better to sit up, to press her forehead against the cold of the buggy wall, to force her eyes open wide.

It was impossible to prepare herself physically while confined to the buggy. At home, she might have paced to quicken the labor. In the buggy, she could barely straighten out enough to ease the pain in her back, so instead she spoke to her child.

She whispered words of assurance.

She described Mose to the babe in her womb—told her of this good, strong man who was battling the storm for the two of them.

She explained what would happen when he returned and they reached the birthing center.

Etta didn’t feel at all silly speaking to her stomach, to her child, petitioning her to “wait, a little longer, wait.” Something about the fact that they were alone assured her that the child could hear and understand.

As she spoke, her blood pressure lowered, she was certain of it. The contractions remained strong, but no closer together.

Which prompted her to count her blessings. She praised God that her child was waiting, that the contractions remained strong but a good five minutes apart. She thanked God for her husband, who had cared for her these many years. She praised God for her time with Sarah. She remembered that she had six children—nearly all grown—the two oldest boys snug in their own homes and the girls safe and warm back in their house. She prayed that David was also sheltered. Perhaps he was down in Pinecraft, Florida, where many Amish fled during cold spells for a brief vacation. He’d mentioned he planned to catch a ride south in his last phone message. That had been nearly a year ago. He hadn’t said why he was going or how long he intended to stay.

Instead of worrying, she forced her mind to focus on their blessings. David had mentioned attending an area church. He still checked in with them occasionally. He sounded as if he was doing well.

Most Amish stayed within the community once they became adults, but when the occasional boy or girl left, the parents didn’t always receive communication. Sometimes years could go by with no word. While her hands rested on top of her stomach, comforting the child, she thanked God that they had heard from David, even if it was sporadically.

She also spoke to God of their neighbors, who had always helped, who were bringing Mose back to her even now. She was sure of that.

And so she began to anticipate. She wanted to step outside and reassure Morgan but knew it would be dangerous to leave the shelter of the buggy. Instead, she envisioned what would happen next—Mose arriving, the buggy being pulled free, the lights of the birthing center. Had it been only a few months ago that she had dreaded going there? That she had argued for a home birth? But Doc had explained to her the dangers because of her age, because of her blood pressure.

Instead of focusing on those risks, she once again thanked God for Doc Bennett—for his knowledge and wisdom.

And then she heard the sound of a motor.

Mose didn’t have to knock the buggy door free from ice this time. Etta was stretched across the seat, pushing it open even as he hurried through the snow toward her.

“I’ll unhitch the horse,” Jonas Gingerich called out.

Tom Ramsey backed up to the rear of the buggy and began attaching the towing chain.

Both men were approximately the same age as Mose, though one was Amish and the other Englisch. Tonight it would take all three of them to set the buggy free.

“Are you all right?” Mose jumped into the buggy and slid the door shut, hoping to keep out the cold.

“Ya. Tom brought his Jeep?”

“He did. We’ll pull the buggy out first, then Jonas will back Morgan out.”

Etta closed her eyes in relief. Mose squeezed her hand, then hopped out and walked to the front near the hitch.

“Ready here,” Jonas said. “I’ll calm the horse. Tom can pull anytime.”

Morgan was used to the sound of Englisch vehicles. He’d been a buggy horse for many years, pulling through the streets of Shipshewana and the surrounding countryside. If the sound of the Jeep’s motor agitated him, he didn’t show it.

Mose trudged to the back of the buggy and gave Tom the thumbs-up sign.

The buggy wasn’t designed to be pulled backward, but it was the best way out of the snowdrift. On the first try, the wheels of the Jeep spun in the snow, and the buggy remained entrenched.

Mose feared he would need to move Etta to the Jeep. Jonas would have to stay with the horse, and he’d have to ride with Tom. He couldn’t imagine carrying Etta over the snow or subjecting her to the bitterness outside the buggy.

He needn’t have worried. The Jeep was designed to find traction in the most unlikely of places. Tom changed gears, and the buggy slowly began to move back the way it had come. Though the hitch bounced, then dug into the snow, the jeep had no problem towing it toward the center of the road.

Jonas clucked to the horse, backing it up.

In five minutes, they had the horse once again hitched to the buggy.

“Danki,” Mose said. He stood with one hand on the door, eager to go and at the same time a little hesitant that they might again become stuck. His friends had been a tremendous help, but he didn’t want to ask them to stay in the snow in the middle of the night any longer than necessary, so he said, “We should be fine from here.”

“We’re already out. Might as well lead you over to the center.” Tom blew into his hands. He was a big man, broad shouldered and larger than most Amish at over six feet. He’d worked the land next to Jonas for twenty years, and although he used the Englisch tractors, he also had a respect for the land that was akin to the Amish way.

“I agree with Tom,” Jonas said. Shorter and rounder, he’d been an elder in their community for as long as Mose could remember. “Naomi won’t be happy if I come back home and say I left you on the side of the road. She’d rather have a baby report.”

So it was settled.

Tom and Jonas rode in the jeep, its headlights cutting a path through the snow that continued to fall.

The birthing center was located three miles south of town off State Road 5, and within twenty minutes, they could see the lights of the parking area. The single-story building was one of the most welcome sites Mose had seen in a long time. Had they left home mere hours ago? It seemed days to Mose.

The center had been open only a few years. Until that time, most of the local Amish birthed their children at home. He’d recently read in the Budget that only ten percent did so now, which seemed like a tragedy to him. He well remembered the cries of their newborns coming from the bedroom, and the tender moment when his sons and daughters were allowed to greet their new sibling.

But it was difficult on Doc and on the midwives. The birthing center had been a good compromise, and a better solution for them than driving to the hospitals in LaGrange or Goshen like a fair amount of Amish did. He realized Doc’s center was known to the locals as the “stop and drop” because the Amish tended to wait until the last minute to check in for a delivery. No doubt, they would provide another story for Doc Bennett to shake his head about, but the man was a good doctor. Mose would happily endure the teasing since it meant his wife and child would be in capable hands.

When they pulled into the parking lot, he and Etta both peered out the front window of the buggy. The air practically vibrated with the whop, whop, whop of a helicopter landing on the far side of the parking area. The birth must be a real emergency for the father to have called in a helicopter, though the complication couldn’t have been too severe or they would have flown them straight to the hospital in LaGrange.

“I’m not surprised another child is insisting on greeting the world this evening.” Etta folded the blanket that had covered her the last few hours.

Mose pulled the buggy under the awning. “Three of ours have been born during snowstorms.”

“Mamm would say it is nature’s way, that when the storms come—whatever the season—the babes understand it as Gotte’s way of sending them into the world.”

“A heavenly celebration, though I’d prefer a clear, starry night myself.”

As they watched, Doc Bennett helped unload the mother from the helicopter. Another nurse had grabbed a wheelchair and was pushing it toward their buggy.

“Can you tell us who it is?” Etta asked the nurse when she had opened the door and carefully stepped down.

“It’s Mary Weaver. She needed an emergency rescue because her water broke three weeks early.” The nurse smiled at Etta and patted her hand as she helped her into a wheelchair. “No worries. Doc can handle more than two babies at a time. I’ve seen him juggle up to four deliveries all occurring within the same hour. He said it was like catching baseballs, and if it kept up, he was going to order a catcher’s mitt.”

Mose had always been a baseball fan. He enjoyed watching the games some of the members would play after Sunday services when he was full from the meal and the children were dashing around, brimming with energy. He’d once enjoyed playing, though those days were behind him. Yes, he liked baseball, but he certainly hoped it wouldn’t come to using a baseball mitt to catch his child.

Thinking back on that younger self, he seemed like a different person, though he knew he was the same. He still had the scar on his left hand from the fishing hook, the pain in his hip on cold nights from jumping out of the hayloft when he was ten, and he still sometimes grew impatient when he knew, he was absolutely certain, that it was best to wait on the Lord.

For some reason, an old saying came to mind that his mother was fond of. “In youth we learn, in age we understand.” He almost laughed out loud. He had certainly learned much, but he was doubtful that he understood. He’d simply learned he might not understand, and not to let that hinder his path.

He didn’t spend too much time struggling over questions like why the horses fell ill when he needed them most, or why a child chose a different path, or why a babe insisted on being born during a blizzard. He simply worked hard and prayed their way through such times.

As the nurse hurried them into the building, he saw Tom and Jonas parking the Jeep. It was now well past midnight, and the snow that had begun in the early afternoon continued to fall, covering the cars, the sidewalk, and the landscaping. It seemed this child—most certainly his last child—would greet the world on a snowy, wintery night.

CHAPTER FIVE

The nurse’s chatter put Etta at ease. That and the fact that she had met the woman when she’d done her prenatal visit. Her name was Linda or Laura. She peeked backward and saw the letters Lau . . . Laura then.

As soon as Etta had mentioned to Doc Bennett that she’d rather have a home delivery, he’d insisted she visit the center. “You’ll like it, Etta. It’s very Amish-friendly.” His eyes had twinkled as he’d picked up his phone and dialed the center, telling them that Etta would be over in a few minutes and to give her the grand tour.

Now, as they entered the birthing center, Etta was glad she had visited earlier. At least the rooms and people looked familiar. The blast of warm air was like a welcome caress. She had nearly forgotten that the next day was Valentine’s Day. Area school children had made strings of red-and-pink paper hearts, which now decorated the nurses’ station.

“Let’s get you into a room,” Laura said. “Our only patients are you and Mary, so you can choose whether you’d rather have electric lights or gas.”

“Makes no difference,” Mose muttered. He ran his fingers through his beard as he glanced around.

Priscilla, the area midwife, stopped to check on her as they were moving down the hall. “You made it through the storm!”

“Ya, we were stuck for awhile, but Mose walked for help.”

“Then you both must be frozen. I’ll have one of the aides bring you some coffee.”

“I need to tend to the horse, but I don’t want to miss . . . anything.” Mose had taken off his hat and was twirling it in his hands.

“How far apart are your pains, Etta?”

“Five minutes, I think.”

“Holding steady or growing closer?”

“Steady.”

“You should be fine to go, Mose. If things change suddenly, I’ll send an aide to fetch you.” Priscilla had delivered all of their children at their home, and they were both very comfortable with the Mennonite woman. She’d become a fixture in their town, rather like the Blue Gate and Lolly’s and Yoder’s. She’d become a bridge between the Amish and Englisch world.

“Laura will help Etta change into a clean gown, and then we’ll check her. By the time you’re finished with the horse, she’ll be ready for you to come in.”

“Gut. I’ll hurry.” Mose turned and fled through the front door, nearly colliding with Tom and Jonas. The three men disappeared into the wintry wonderland.

Priscilla patted her hand and hurried down the hall.

Laura pushed the chair into room three. Decorated in a clean and plain fashion, with off-white paint and a blind on the window, the room reminded Etta of home. No fancy pictures on the wall. No curtains on the window. No television blaring in the corner of the room. There was even a handmade quilt on the bed, done in a simple log-cabin pattern. Etta had asked about the quilts when she was visiting. The aide who had shown her around assured her that the quilts were removed during the actual birth, then put back on the bed for the rest of the mother’s visit.

“I feel silly in this chair. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

“Yes, but we wouldn’t want you to have slipped on the snow outside.” Laura set the brakes on the wheelchair and pointed out the freshly laundered gown hanging on a hook on the wall. “You have your own bathroom, and there’s a microwave and small refrigerator to heat and store any food you might have brought.”

“I brought soup for myself—for after the babe is born. For Mose I brought some leftover chicken casserole. He’s bound to be hungry after trying to dig the horse and buggy out of the snow.”

“They were stuck good, huh?” Laura took the bag of goodies and placed the containers in the refrigerator.

“I thought I was going to have this boppli in a buggy.”

“Well, we’re glad that you’re here.” Laura turned and smiled at her. “If you’ll change into the gown on the hook, I’ll come back in and help you settle into the bed. Then we can tell Doc you’re ready to be checked.”

Etta nodded.

But when Laura left the room, she remained still—sitting in the wheelchair and surveying the room. It was different from when she’d visited. Now she was actually staying here. Her child would be born here.

As she stood and reached for the gown, her mind flowed back to the day a few months ago when she had gone to see Doc Bennett, after Rachel had insisted that it was time.

Etta sat in the examining room. She’d donned the cotton gown as instructed. Though she was uncomfortable doing so, she reminded herself to be grateful she was seeing Doc Bennett. He understood their ways, having worked in their community since the beginning of his career—for well over twenty years now. He accepted that his Amish patients were very private people, and though they would see a doctor, they preferred to retain as much of their modesty as possible.

She smoothed out the sheet over her lap and tried not to tense up when there was a knock at the door and Doc entered. She’d seen him around town the last few years—in the Blue Gate restaurant, at Yoder’s department store, even driving down the road. However, she hadn’t been in his office since she’d come in two years ago to ask about the changes in her body, the changes that were due to her going through menopause.

Of course, she knew what to expect. She’d written her mother who lived back in Pennsylvania, and she’d spoken to Rachel as well. No, her concern hadn’t blossomed until she’d found the small lump in her left breast. After talking it over with Mose, she’d immediately made an appointment with Doc Bennett. They’d done a test—a mammogram, which showed the lump was not a problem, merely a calcium deposit. At the time, they’d also discussed her menopausal symptoms—everything from hot flashes to fatigue to her recently acquired short temper. Doc had helped her see that these things were normal and would pass with time.

Now she was back in his office, but for a far different reason.

Doc’s hair had more gray in it than she remembered. He was tall and still gangly. They all agreed he needed to eat more, or maybe work less. They’d been telling him as much for years, but Doc always nodded as if he agreed, then went on about his former habits. He reminded her of Amish men in that way.

Since his wife had passed, if anything, Doc was working more hours. Or so she had heard.

Today he wore wire-frame glasses, and behind the frames Etta noticed more wrinkles fanning out from his eyes. The thing that had always surprised her about Doc were his hands—big hands, farmer’s hands. He’d told her once that God gave him big hands not to till the earth but to catch the babies.

“Gut morning, Etta!” Doc feigned an Amish accent for the amusement of his patients. “This is a wunderbaar day, yes?”

Etta didn’t respond. So many thoughts were flying through her head at the same time that she found voicing any of them too difficult.

Doc washed his hands, thoroughly, slowly, and then he sat down on his stool, studying her file. When he glanced up a smile covered his face.

“According to our test, you’re expecting another boppli, Etta. Congratulations.”

Embarrassed by the tears that suddenly blurred her vision, Etta closed her eyes. She waited for several heartbeats, allowing Doc’s words to seep into her heart, answering so many of her questions. Yes, she had known. The baby was already kicking! But to hear Doc confirm the fact, well, it sent a river of joy through her heart. When she opened her eyes, he was studying her and patiently waiting.

“I was afraid I might be going a little narrisch.”

“Is that so?”

“I recognized all the . . . signs, but I thought it couldn’t be.”

“Because?”

“Because of my age! Have you forgotten? I turned forty-two recently.”

Doc cleared his throat as if to argue with her, but then he motioned for her to continue. So she described her symptoms, and he assured her they were all normal. Some of them hadn’t felt normal. She’d never napped when she was pregnant before, and she was embarrassed that she’d done so fairly often with this baby.

“Seems lazy,” she admitted to him.

“It isn’t.”

“I still can hardly believe we’re to have another child.”

“Now, Etta. Certainly you know that women can have babies at your age. We even spoke about it when you came in for your last checkup.”

“Ya, I remember, and I know it’s possible—for other women.”

“Any reason that it shouldn’t include you?”

“Nein. Only that it’s been so long.”

“How old is Charity now?” He moved the stool toward her when the nurse walked in and indicated that she should lie back.

“Twelve.”

“Seems like yesterday . . .” Doc commented about each of her children as he examined her. Though Priscilla had delivered them all, he had checked on her twice during each pregnancy. It was interesting how Doc and Priscilla worked hand in hand. Still, she was surprised that he would remember their names—even details about their births.

“All done,” he said, and the nurse patted Etta’s hand as if she needed the extra emotional support, helping her sit up in the process.

“I was thirty years old when Charity was born, a young woman then.” Etta checked her prayer kapp to make sure it was still on straight, then smoothed the sheet out over her lap again. “Now I’m old.”

“You’re not as old as I am, but then I only help birth the babies.” Doc cocked his head, studying her.

She liked that about him, that he took so much time during his visits with patients.

“Then there’s the stillbirth, which happened three years after Charity. After that, I thought I wouldn’t be . . . wouldn’t be able to conceive.”

“That’s not how it works. We don’t know why some pregnancies carry to term and others don’t.”

“Gotte’s wille,” Etta whispered. That’s what she’d told herself and she could even believe it now, but at the time it had felt as if a piece of her heart had been ripped out and trampled by the big horses Mose used to plow the fields.

“Everything looks good, Etta. This pregnancy is progressing just fine, and I expect that soon you will be holding a healthy baby. I don’t suppose you could tell me when your last menstrual cycle was—”

“Nein. They’ve been so irregular.”

“I thought so. I would like to do an ultrasound so I can determine exactly how far along you are.”

Etta shook her head. She understood that some of the younger women did have ultrasounds, and she knew it wasn’t painful. Still, it felt so different from the old ways. “This child will be born when it’s ready. I don’t need a test to tell me what day that will be.”

Doc wrote a note on her file, peering at her over his glasses. “There’s something else we need to discuss, Etta. Since you are over forty, the chances that your child could have Down’s syndrome go up to one out of forty, according to some studies. A simple test—”

“Nein.”

Again Doc waited.

Etta knew she didn’t have to explain. Doc was well acquainted with their ways, but she found herself doing so nonetheless. “I know the risks, and we have special children here in our community. They are not a burden but a blessing.”

“I understand and admire the Amish attitude toward this subject, Etta. However, it would help us prepare.”

“Nein.”

“All right.” Doc didn’t look perturbed. No doubt he had expected her response. “However, I insist that we watch your blood pressure and insulin levels. This means you must come in once a month and let us follow up with you.”

“Ya. All right. Though once a month seems a bit much.”

“You’d think she didn’t like us,” Doc said to his nurse.

“I’ll make her another appointment.” The nurse bustled out of the room.

“Call the birthing center while you’re at it. She’ll want to go by and see . . .”

“I was hoping that maybe—”

“No, Etta. Your boppli will be born in February or March, depending on how far along you are, and I’d guess the end of February. We won’t risk a snowbound, in-home birth. Trust me on this one.”

“And Priscilla?”

“Works at the center. She’s there most nights. Either she or I or both of us will be there for your babe’s birth.”

Etta nodded, but her stomach flipped. She’d heard that Doc rarely agreed to home births anymore, but she was hoping that she might be the exception.

“I think you’ll like the birthing center.” Doc stood and pushed the stool back under the countertop. “It’s plain and simple.”

Etta rolled her eyes at the pun. Plain and simple—that was the Amish way—or so all the tour guides and fiction books claimed. It was true they were often called the Plain folk, along with the Quakers, Hutterites, and Mennonites. It was true they strove to lead a simple life. But in many ways their lives were anything but plain and simple.

Most folks who said that had never attempted to do their laundry with a gas washing machine or struggled to hang wet garments on the line in the middle of winter.

People who called their life plain and simple didn’t realize that they worried about bank payments and crops and new babies in the same way every other farmer did.

Plain and simple indeed . . .

Etta paused beside the bed until her contraction passed. They were as strong as before, but no closer together. She ran a hand over the quilt on the bed, glancing again around the room. Several issues of the Budget sat on a small table next to a comfortable recliner. Mose would be happy to learn that it made into a bed, as they might have a long night.

Electric lamps glowed warmly, throwing shadows onto the ivory-painted walls. The blind on the large window was partially open, and Etta could see snow still falling, accumulating steadily across the parking lot, street, and field in the distance—though she couldn’t see that far into the darkness.

She’d folded her clothes and set them in the small closet, using the time between contractions to stand and walk around the room. It felt good to be up, to be moving, and to be out of the buggy! She placed her palm against the coolness of the sink and counter. Beneath it was the small refrigerator and microwave. Her husband would no doubt be hungry when he returned. She removed the chicken casserole from the refrigerator and set it in the microwave, though she’d wait to heat it. No use wasting the electricity and having to do it again.

Beside the bed was a handmade cradle. She walked over and rocked it gently. It looked to her to be made of pine, though she was no expert where types of wood were concerned. A tiny, hand-stitched, nine-patch quilt had been placed inside the cradle. The colors were a soft pink, yellow, blue, and green. Soon her child would lie in the bed and be covered by the quilt.

However, as the next contraction seized her, something deep inside told her she had several difficult hours ahead of her and that this time the birthing would be different.

The pain worsened and the heaviness in her lower abdomen increased. She gripped the back of the chair, afraid to move, afraid to sit or lie down.

Where was the nurse?

Where was Mose?

She suddenly remembered all of the warnings about older women and pregnancy. Now wasn’t the time to focus on what could go wrong. She needed to remain positive and use all of her energy to bring her last child into the world.

CHAPTER SIX

Mose stopped at the door with the number three on it. He wasn’t normally shy, but none of his family had been in a hospital room before. Certainly none of his children had been born in one. He’d visited a few folks from their community over at the LaGrange Hospital. That had been several years ago, and he remembered clearly disliking the antiseptic smell and impersonal feel of the place. The nurses and doctors seemed efficient enough, but always busy, which seemed to translate into rushing from one room to another.

So he hesitated in the hall, unsure what was proper inside a hospital.

Of course, this wasn’t a hospital—not exactly.

Hadn’t he just walked by and seen one of the nurses dressing Mary Weaver’s new infant in a blue gown?

“A little one you have there,” he’d commented.

“Ya, he’s early, but healthy.” The nurse had kept her eyes on the baby, swaddling him in a blanket before cradling him in her arms. Her name tag reminded him that she was Laura, the same nurse who had helped Etta to her room when they’d first arrived. “Soon you will be holding your infant. I believe Etta’s time is getting close.”

The sight of the small infant had stirred a deep place in Mose’s heart. His child, possibly his last child, was about to be born. It could be happening at any moment. He had nodded to Laura and hurried on to room number three, where he now stood hesitating like a donkey unsure it wanted to enter a stall. Then he heard Etta cry out, and he opened the door and stepped into the room.

The moment he entered, he knew something was wrong.

He’d been present at all of his children’s births. He’d also been at Etta’s side when Sarah had been born. He’d held his wife’s hand as the tears slipped down her face, tears that had chipped away a piece of his heart as much as the stillborn child—less than a pound and so incredibly small. That had been a difficult time for their entire family. He’d worried about his wife, and prayed constantly that she would heal, that she would learn to smile and even laugh again.

Images from that terrible day filled his heart and mind as he rushed to Etta’s side. He searched her face and saw an expression of such panic that it sent a jolt of fear through his heart.

Laura had been replaced by the midwife, Priscilla. She glanced up at Mose and didn’t even attempt a smile.

“Was iss letz?”

“Etta’s pain is worse because her time is near, but there’s a problem with the baby’s heartbeat. Wash up quickly. Lose that coat too. Then come back to Etta’s side, Mose. She needs you right now.”

He hurriedly did as Priscilla had directed, feeling clumsy with the soap and paper towels, afraid to look at his reflection in the mirror, afraid of the dread he might see there. His heart was beating so quickly he wondered that no one could hear it. Tossing the towels into the trash bin, he hurried back across the room to where Etta lay on the bed. Her forehead was shiny with sweat and her face was deathly pale. Her eyes had a wild look in them—focusing on nothing, seeing nothing. He realized in that instant the depth and relentlessness and intensity of her pain.

Mose clutched her hand as fear seized his heart. “Etta, I’m here.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as another spasm of pain consumed her.

“Is it time?” He didn’t understand any of this, but he knew when Doc Bennett walked in that things were not proceeding as they should. The man’s face was set in a grim line, and he offered none of his friendly chatter. Instead, he went immediately to the sink and scrubbed his hands, then donned a fresh pair of surgical gloves.

Priscilla had been at the foot of the bed. As soon as Doc walked over, she moved to the side. “Your baby’s heartbeat has dropped dramatically. I believe we have a looped cord.”

Mose knew what that meant.

A lump lodged in his throat, and he prayed that God would deliver his child. He prayed they would not be made to endure the stillbirth of another babe. He began petitioning God in that moment, for Etta’s strength, for the health of their child, and for Doc Bennett. “The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust Him with all my heart.”

He didn’t realize that he’d uttered the words aloud until Priscilla voiced her approval. “The Psalms are a fitting prayer for a child, Mose. Soon you will be holding your boppli, and you can whisper those words directly to her.”

Though his heart still beat wildly, his emotions settled.

A looped cord.

He’d birthed many calves and even the occasional foal. More than once he’d had to save an animal when the umbilical cord became wrapped around the newborn’s neck. It had required him to be quick and decisive at the moment of birth. He understood what lay ahead of them.

Doc spoke from his place at the end of the bed. “All right. Etta, are you ready?”

“Something’s wrong . . .” The words were a moan from deep in her soul. Her eyes were fixed on the display of the heart monitor, which was now flashing red, flashing a number that even Mose realized was dangerously low.

“My baby’s heart—”

“Don’t worry, Etta. Look at Mose and focus. I want you to push with the next contraction. Are you ready?” One of doc’s hands was on top of Etta’s stomach, feeling the muscles begin to tighten even before she did. “Now, Etta. Push and keep pushing. You can do this.”

Etta clutched Mose’s hand, her face white with fear.

“It will be fine, Etta.” He prayed the words were true, even as doubt seized his heart.

Doc and Priscilla shared a glance when the monitor began to beep.

“What is wrong?” Etta cried.

“It’s the baby’s heart, Etta.” Doc’s voice was now gruff, focused. “Push one more time.”

There was a mirror in the corner of the room. It reflected what was happening at the end of the bed, and Mose glanced up in time to see his baby girl slide into Doc’s hands. The child was unnaturally pale, unlike his other children—they had been screaming and red, a healthy color. The cord was indeed wrapped around her neck, but Doc slipped it off as if he were tossing away a shawl.

Mose couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror. He willed her to pink up, prayed with everything in his heart that God would bless them with this child.

The baby’s arms began to wave, slowly at first and then with more vigor. As her tiny fists pumped in the air, her color turned first to a light pink and then to a darker rose.

Doc handed the baby to Priscilla, who said, “You have a beautiful girl, Etta. She is doing fine and looks happy to have arrived.”

As she spoke, she’d been clearing the mucus out of the baby’s mouth. Mose watched as their daughter took her first and then second breath. Suddenly her robust cry filled the room. The glorious sound filled Mose’s heart until he thought it might burst.

“She looks and sounds like a healthy baby girl,” Doc noted as he continued working on Etta.

“May I hold her?”

“Of course you may. Let’s set her on top of your belly while Mose cuts the cord.” Priscilla placed a clamp on the cord, close to the baby.

As he’d done with his three sons and three daughters, Mose accepted the scissors, reached forward, and cut the cord between mother and infant.

Etta watched Mose fit his large fingers into the scissor handles. He smiled at her once—his eyes filled with tears of so much love and joy that she thought they might overflow. Then he reached forward and cut the cord that connected her to her daughter. The baby looked perfect in every way—her skin was pink and wrinkled, her hair a chestnut brown, and her cry continued to fill their room.

A moment earlier Etta had been filled with such fear. Her vision had clouded as she imagined all that could go wrong, all that had gone wrong before.

Then Mose had slipped his hand over hers and he’d quoted the Psalms, a verse she had clung to many times. His kind eyes had looked into hers, and she’d known—she’d positively known at that moment—such bottomless love from him that her fear had melted away like snow on a sunny day. Her worries for the new babe, for David, even for their home had fled.

Now it felt as if a hundred butterflies had taken up residence where her child had been. She was consumed with happiness as tears continued to slip down her cheeks. Her hands shook as she reached to hold the child Priscilla placed in the crook of her arm.

“She’s perfect,” Priscilla assured her.

“Ya, that she is.” Etta touched her daughter’s cheek, rested the palm of her hand on top of her babe’s stomach. She was a warm bundle of blessing, and Etta could not imagine being happier than she was in that moment. “Her eyes are shaped like Martha’s.”

“And she cries like Beth.”

Mose ran a finger down the baby’s face. “But her nose—it is the same as Sarah’s.”

Laura walked into the room, all smiles and bustle. “It sounds as if there’s a recent arrival for me to clean and dress. Do we have a name for the newest Bontrager?”

Mose ran his fingers through his beard. “We’d thought about Peaches.”

“That was for the horse, Mose!”

“Ya, ya. That’s right.”

“Hannah.” Etta breathed the word like a prayer. “We decided upon Hannah.”

“Merciful and blessed by Gotte.” Mose ran his thumbs under his suspenders.

“A gut strong name for a gut strong girl.” Laura smiled as she picked up the infant. “I will have her back to you in a few minutes.”

Etta might have protested, but she was suddenly aware of Doc speaking to her at the end of the bed. There was still work to do.

“We’ll be finished here by the time she’s back.” Priscilla seemed to read her thoughts.

The next few moments passed quickly. Free of the fear for the health of her child, Etta found the work of delivering the placenta uneventful. Doc finished and was once again scrubbing his hands. Priscilla had changed the bedding and Etta was sitting up crunching on ice chips when Laura returned.

Hannah was clothed in a long light-pink gown that had been hand sewn by one of the women in their community. She was sucking on her fist, and her wide eyes seemed to take in everything around her.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Like her mother,” Mose agreed. “For sure and certain, she does look like you, Etta, and would you look at all that brown hair.”

Though four of their babies had been born with no hair at all, Hannah’s hair curled around her head, like a soft cap.

Her skin, soft and wrinkled, reminded Etta of the raisins she put into the children’s lunches—only they were children no longer and had been making their own lunches for several years. She had spent much of her pregnancy worrying about whether she could physically handle the work of a new child, but now she delighted in the thought of all those days ahead of her, when Hannah would crawl and then walk.

Her first words.

Her first day to school, carrying a lunch that Etta would pack.

The day she would join their church.

Those events stretched out in front of them, like a road that led into the future. Etta could hardly wait, but at the same time she’d learned the importance of enjoying the moment. Even when that moment was a screaming boppli.

“Sounds as if she wants her mamm.” Mose had accepted the child from Laura, but now he placed her next to Etta.

Etta repositioned herself so that Hannah could try her first attempt at nursing.

“I believe I’ll go out and tell Jonas and Tom we have a fine, new baby girl.”

Laura plumped Etta’s pillows, refilled the cup with ice chips, and moved the cradle closer to the bed. Hannah finished nursing, which took only a minute or so—the darling wore out quickly. Then Laura placed the baby girl in the cradle, tucking the small handmade, nine-patch quilt tightly around her.

“You both had a long night. It was hard work, too, and now you should rest.”

Etta nodded, but she couldn’t quite take her eyes off the tiny miracle sleeping beside her. She turned on her side and stared at Hannah, praying that God would bless and protect her. She longed to allow herself to relax for the first time since her labor had begun, but a nagging worry kept her eyes open. Now that her baby was born, her mind turned to their financial problems. It was a silly thing to dwell on mere moments after her child was born, but the urge to protect this small one was strong.

Would they need to sell the farm?

And if they did, where would they go?

Would Hannah be raised in a new community, one full of strangers?

Her heart ached to think of what might lie ahead, even as she vowed to be strong for Mose and all of their children. Deep within her soul, though, she cried out to God and prayed again for His mercy and grace.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It seemed to Etta that she didn’t sleep deeply, as if she was remembering as much as she was dreaming. She was aware of Laura quietly moving around the room, of the gentle suckling noises as Hannah again claimed her fist, of morning sunlight peeking through the blinds.

But her eyes slid shut, almost against her will, and she felt herself drifting back.

Her dreams were filled with memories from the past Christmas morning. It had been a time of quiet reflection, fasting, and shared Bible study. Since the holiday did not fall on a Sunday, there was no church service. Instead, Etta spent the time with Mose and the girls, gathered in their sitting room, the Bible turned to the recounting of Christ’s birth. Martha, Beth, and Charity asked their dad questions about the Scripture, especially how it was foretold in Isaiah. Mose did his best to answer them, and Etta realized what a good father he had been to their children—what a good father he would be again.

By early afternoon, their oldest, Ben, had arrived from Middlebury.

Soon after that, another buggy clip-clopped down the lane, carrying Christopher, his wife, Jana, and their two-year-old child, Noah.

The only one missing was David. Etta whispered a prayer for his safety, then pushed the worry away. God would care for the son who was gone in the same way He cared for the rest of her children now noisily filling their home.

Her family gathered around the table, and together they prayed. Before they bowed their heads for that silent time, Mose reminded them to be thankful for the birth of God’s son, for the meal before them, for the closeness of family, and for David—wherever he might be. Mose didn’t specifically mention the child they were expecting, but asked each of them to petition God’s blessing on any who might join their family in the coming year. There were several chuckles and after the prayer, a few whispers.

Etta studied Jana. Could her daughter-in-law be pregnant again? Yes, she supposed it was possible. In fact, it was time. Noah was two. If Jana was three months pregnant now, Noah would turn three before another baby was born. Amish children often arrived two to three years apart.

Which made her family something of a rarity because there was a gap of five years between her three boys and three girls. As they passed the plates of chicken, candied yams, potato casserole, corn, and fresh bread, Etta thought of those five years. It had been a difficult time.

She’d had three children in a row—when she was twenty, twenty-one, and twenty-two. Yes, she’d been exhausted. Yes, her body had been depleted. Maybe that was why the next five years were so difficult. Did Mose realize she was struggling? Is that why he’d held himself apart from her?

Likely it was. She could see that now, as she glanced up and met her husband’s gaze. He was perceptive in that way, kind and caring. He wouldn’t have spoken of it, wouldn’t have wanted to offend her in any way. Instead, he spent many a night working in the barn—after the boys were asleep and while she was struggling to stay awake with some bit of darning or needlework.

She had felt so unwanted and unloved.

She had convinced herself that Mose regretted ever marrying her.

It was a challenging time in their marriage, but eventually the boys began sleeping all night. Her body began to grow strong again, and her old energy and positive outlook returned. But soon after, when all three boys were still not in school, they had been bombarded with financial woes. Amish life might be simple, but they had to pay taxes on the land like everyone else. The boys constantly needed new shoes. The house always had one thing or another in need of repair or replacement.

By the time she was twenty-seven, the financial hardships had abated somewhat. The boys were five, six, and seven, and she delivered their first baby girl, followed soon by another and then a third. Again, there was a three year gap, but not for lack of trying. No, she simply failed to conceive during that time—until she became pregnant with Sarah.

After the stillbirth, she had assumed something was wrong with her, that she was unable to have any more children. She’d found happiness and contentment, eventually—once her period of mourning over Sarah had passed. Though a part of her heart would continue to grieve—to ache for the tiny girl—she had learned to trust.

The baby in her womb kicked, as if to agree.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Charity asked. Their youngest was the worrier of the family.

“Ya, I am.” Etta glanced down at her plate and then back up. “I was remembering each of your births.”

“All here in this very house.” Mose grinned as he filled his plate.

“And the new boppli?” Ben reached for another fresh roll, broke it open, and slathered butter on both sides.

“The new boppli will be born at Doc’s birthing center.” Etta popped a forkful of chicken into her mouth—the meat was moist and well-seasoned. She was certainly a better cook now, better than when she’d been a first-time mother. It was a wonder Mose had survived.

The meal proceeded with plenty of conversation, a few secrets shared, and everyone proclaiming it was the best Christmas ever.

Then they moved into the sitting room to exchange gifts. Etta worked all year to put back a little money for Christmas presents. She kept a jar to store her savings, and any money she earned from her crocheted and knitted items was put there. Virtually all of the gifts they gave to the children were handmade—buggy blankets and winter scarves for the boys and a set of gloves for each of the girls. Usually the children pitched in and purchased one thing for their mom and dad—a gift for the house. One year it had been a new coffee maker, another year a new flashlight for each of the bedrooms. Etta always looked forward to this time of gift giving because it showed how much they understood each other, how much they knew of each other’s needs.

When Christopher and Ben stood and walked out of the room, she nudged Mose. “Something’s up.”

“Ya? Christmas time . . . usually brings a few surprises.” But his eyes were twinkling, which caused Etta to realize he knew what was going on.

Then the boys walked in carrying the cradle and placed it in front of her. It was the cradle Mose had built so many years ago, when Etta was a first-time mother. The wood shone, and when she reached out to touch it, to run her fingers over the tiny rails, a thousand memories poured from her heart.

“You made her get all emotional,” Charity whispered.

“Nein. I didn’t!” Christopher protested. “It’s only the way women are when they’re expecting.”

“Are you saying that we’re overly emotional?” Jana asked.

“Careful how you answer that one, bruder.” Ben’s voice bordered on laughter as he slapped his brother on the back.

The cradle was filled to overflowing with all manner of items—several packages of disposable diapers, new cloth diapers, baby teething rings, tiny handmade blankets, and two crib quilts.

Etta’s eyes filled with tears as she pulled her attention from the cradle and gazed around the room. Though they hadn’t spoken much about the new baby with their children, she realized in that moment that they understood what a shock it had been. They knew she no longer had the things a woman would keep for the next baby. She’d given them all away long ago, including the cradle, which had gone to Christopher before Noah was born.

Noah ran over to the cradle and began pushing it so that it would rock. Glancing up at Etta, he proclaimed, “Boppli!” Then he picked up his wooden horse from the floor and placed it in the cradle.

“Danki,” she said, swiping at her eyes.

“You did make Mamm cry.” Beth pushed her brother playfully.

“Nein. You’re the one who had the idea. It’s your fault if she cries.”

“It’s no one’s fault. Your mamm is happy, and we both appreciate what you’ve done. It was very thoughtful.” Mose beamed at his children and caught up young Noah into his arms.

Soon there was laughter and oohing and aahing over gifts. It was an hour later before Etta had a chance to speak with Christopher.

“You shouldn’t have returned the cradle. No doubt you’ll be needing it again soon.”

“Ya, maybe.” Her son had outgrown her by a good four inches. He slid into a chair as he studied her. “But we don’t need it now, and you do. You can return it when the boppli is too big to sleep in it.”

“Thank you, Christopher.” Etta cut him a piece of the chocolate cake and pushed it in front of him. Then she poured him another cup of coffee. Her middle son had been a coffee fan since he was fourteen and helping his dad in the fields. “I noticed that you cleaned up the cradle before returning it. The grain of the wood, it looks brand new.”

“I sanded it a bit, then worked in some of the furniture oil Ben keeps in his woodshop.”

“That takes several coats to be done properly, and I can tell you did a fine job. Danki.”

“Gem gschehne.” Christopher stared down at his cake, not bothering to pick up a fork.

“Go ahead and say whatever’s on your mind. You never were able to eat when you were tossing something around in there.” She reached out and messed his hair as she had when he was young.

“It’s just . . .” He sipped the coffee and then met her gaze. “I was twelve when Sarah was born. I remember how hard that was on you.”

“Gotte’s wille.” The words were softer than a whisper of wind in the trees.

“Ya. Surely it was, but still, you suffered. I remember asking Ben what we had done wrong.”

“You didn’t—”

“I know that now. I bring it up because I want you to know how much we care about you. I’ve heard pregnancy is harder on . . . older women.”

Etta placed her hands on top of her stomach, closed her eyes, and envisioned the child growing there. When she opened her eyes, Christopher was still studying her. “I’m nine years older now than I was then.”

“Exactly.”

“But Doc says age has nothing to do with whether a boppli survives the birthing. He says that some babies are just not . . . meant for this world.”

“And I would agree with him. But now that I’m a parent, I understand better what that must have been like. If there’s anything at all we can do, promise me you’ll tell us.”

“Of course I will.”

Christopher paused, then pushed on. “What about the bank payments? Dat mentioned things were tight—”

“Tight, yes. But we’re doing all right, Christopher.”

“And you would let me know if you couldn’t make the payments?”

“We would, but, son, we do not expect you to help with our financial obligations. We’ve had bad crops in years past. Gotte always provides, and your dat—he’s a hard worker.”

Satisfied, Christopher sunk the fork into the moist, rich cake and plopped it into his mouth, a smile spreading across his face. “Wunderbaar.”

“Is it now?”

“It is.” He reached out and covered her hand with his. “Know that we are praying for you and the boppli. Know that we are all eager to meet this new child that Gotte is sending into our family.”

Etta nodded, then stood and took several moments to refill her own cup. She needed the time to rein in her emotions. Her children had grown into fine men and women, and she was proud of them. She didn’t want to spoil their Christmas by tearing up—again. She didn’t want to share with the children that Mose had asked the bishop for help. He’d loaned them the money to make the current month’s farm payment. Mose was trying to find work at the stores in town. Something would turn up, and even if it didn’t, Christmas morning was not the time to dwell on such things.

The kitchen was soon crowded and the mood jovial.

“Oh, you get the first piece?” Martha asked.

“Ya, because I’m special.”

“I think the special one would have the first piece of apple pie.”

“There’s pie?” Ben shouldered Martha away from the counter, Martha pretended to be offended, and Christopher insisted he could eat cake and pie.

Etta turned and watched her children, watched her family.

It seemed God had blessed her beyond what that twenty-year-old girl could have imagined, and it seemed that He wasn’t finished yet. She was suddenly ashamed of her doubt. God would provide for their financial needs, if only she knew how.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You look eager to leave. Did the chair sleep so badly?”

“Nein.” Mose folded the blanket he’d used for cover and placed it on the seat of the recliner, then paced to the window and stared out at the sunrise spilling over the winter landscape. “I’m ready to be off is all. I’m ready to take you and Hannah home.”

Etta nodded, and Mose realized it wasn’t a meaningless gesture. She understood him, sympathized with his need to be in his own home. The birthing center had been good. He was glad they’d been there, especially with the looped cord situation. But now he was ready to be with the rest of his children, to be home.

“Did you talk to the girls?”

“Christopher came by when you were sleeping earlier. He said he’d go out and deliver the news.”

“Did he hire an Englisch driver or did he drive his buggy?”

“The buggy. Seems the city has done a gut job clearing the roads. The trip home should be no problem.”

“No snow banks for Morgan to step into?”

“I think one was quite enough.”

When the nurse walked into the room with Hannah, Mose could feel the beat of his heart clattering against his chest. When he looked at his new daughter, he was overwhelmed by the depth of his love and gratitude. He was immensely grateful that she had been born healthy, pink and crying, and ready to bring some chaos to their household. He loved her more than he would have thought possible. Already it seemed this little one had always been a part of their family.

“She’s beautiful.” He accepted the baby from the nurse and cradled her in the crook of his arm. He had worried that he might have forgotten how, but it seemed some things—once learned—became second nature.

“You’re going to spoil her, Dat.” The nurse smiled as she walked to Etta’s side and had her sign the release papers. Her name was Marilyn, and she’d arrived before the sun was up. Apparently they’d called her in because they needed extra help. She was short, plump, and quite motherly.

“Nein, but I am going to appreciate every moment. They grow up too fast. Don’t they, Etta?”

His wife nodded as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Indeed, though I might have to remind you of that when she cries in the middle of the night.”

Mose didn’t think so. He didn’t think interrupted sleep could temper his enthusiasm for this child. Hannah stared up at him with her large eyes—eyes that seemed to be memorizing his face, watching for what? Such curiosity in one so young. He was sure the child smiled. Not even twenty-four hours old and already she was smiling! The nurse would say it was gas, but he knew better. Dads could tell.

“So I can go?” Etta asked the nurse.

“You sure can. Doc said everything was fine after he checked you on his predawn rounds.”

“Does he ever go home?” Mose asked.

“Some nights he does, but last night we received a new delivery every few hours.” Marilyn turned toward Etta. “He did want me to remind you about your appointment in a week.”

Etta met Mose’s eyes, and they both nodded.

Mose would have scoffed at such things with their earlier children, but they would be following Doc’s advice this time. Things were different with Hannah, not only because of her birth and the looped cord, or because of Etta’s age. Things were different because times had changed.

He pondered that as he went to fetch the horse and buggy from the large barn behind the birthing center. As Plain people, they valued consistency and didn’t embrace change. In fact, they fought against it rather valiantly. But Mose had accepted one thing long ago—certain changes couldn’t be resisted. Certain changes were actually for the better. Many Amish would argue with him about that, but only a few of those had suffered through the experience of a stillborn child.

Though Doc had assured them it wouldn’t have been any different had they been in a hospital, Mose was grateful that the birthing center had been built. Doc was always there, as were the midwife and the nurses. In many instances, this would make the difference for a child. The medical community had found a way to bridge the gap between technology and the Amish lifestyle. He thought it was a good compromise.

It was one of many things he liked about their community. They knew and trusted the doctors, the merchants in town, and even the bank. The thought of having to move caused his stomach to twist and turn.

Pulling the buggy even with the front door, he set the brake and jumped out to help Etta.

Once she was settled beside him, the floor heater providing a little warmth and the blanket wrapped firmly around her and the babe, he picked up the reins and directed Morgan toward home. The gelding tossed his head once, then set off at a merry trot.

Etta was relieved to be home, in her rocker, with baby Hannah in the cradle that was set between her and Mose. It had been a long day, and yes, she had taken a short afternoon nap. That was something out of the ordinary, but the night before had been long and they’d risen early. She’d made it through lunch and fed Hannah when her arms grew incredibly heavy and her eyelids felt as if they’d been basted shut.

Martha, Beth, and Charity noticed instantly and suggested the nap. They’d spent the morning oohing and awing over Hannah. Her stomach full from soup and sandwiches the girls had fixed, Etta suddenly wasn’t sure she could walk up the stairs to her bed.

Martha had taken Hannah into her arms and insisted. “We’ll wake you if she needs feeding.”

“Ya, and I already have dinner started—chicken and dumplings.” Charity worried the strings to her prayer kapp. “Hopefully I didn’t add too much onion this time.”

“And I’ve made dessert.” Beth smiled confidently. “Apple crisp. Dat loves it, and I thought he could use something special.”

“Plus, you’re going to ask him about letting you spend Friday evening with your Englisch friend.”

Beth didn’t deny it. “We’re working on our recipe book. It’s another reason I made the apple crisp. I’m trying a new ingredient.”

Etta would have loved to hear more, but instead she surrendered and trudged up the stairs. Her baby was beautiful, and she no longer questioned why God had sent her such a blessing in her later years. As her eyes closed, she realized it would only be harder physically. Emotionally and spiritually she felt more prepared than ever.

The nap had revived her and now she sat in the rocker, the baby in her cradle, and Mose pretending to read the Budget. The paper hadn’t rustled in quite some time, so she suspected he was close to drifting off.

Glancing down at her lap, she picked up the letter from her mamm.

“What does Mammi say in her letter?” Beth was paging through a library book looking for more recipes.

“She says she misses each of you.”

“Two-page letter.” Martha glanced up from her sewing. “She must say more than that.”

Hannah began to cry, a piercing, healthy cry that caused them all to laugh.

“You read it to your schweschdern, Martha. I’ll take care of little Hannah.”

Martha glanced down at the letter, then set aside her sewing and began to read.

Dear Etta and family,

We are happy to hear that you all are well. We still have plenty of snow here in Pennsylvania. Yesterday your dat showed Reuben’s boys how to use the snow shoes. Do you remember the time you were determined to walk to town in them? You made it to the end of the lane before turning around.

“Seriously, Mamm?” Beth looked at her curiously.

Etta shrugged and motioned for Martha to continue reading.

The next portion contained details about various family members in Pennsylvania. Etta hadn’t been home in two years, and it was good to hear how everyone was doing. Perhaps when Charity was done with school, they would take the bus for a visit, just her and the girls. Hannah would be big enough to travel then, and she wanted her parents to meet their newest grandkind. She wanted Hannah to meet them. Family was precious, and she didn’t want to put off something that she might wish she had done. Her parents were in their seventies, and though her mother’s health was good, her father had been hospitalized twice with heart trouble. Etta understood there would only be so many chances to enjoy family reunions.

Then she remembered about their financial situation. The bus tickets were something they definitely couldn’t afford. It would have to wait at least a year, until the summer crops were harvested and sold, and that still might not give them much extra.

Etta suddenly realized that Martha had stopped reading and was staring at the paper, a look of surprise on her face.

“Mammi wrote a special note for Hannah.”

“Ya?”

“But Hannah wasn’t born yet when she wrote this letter.”

“True.”

“She wrote it to our new baby girl . . .”

“Melinda had a fifty-fifty chance of getting that right,” Mose muttered.

“Huh.” Martha flipped the page over and then back again before she resumed reading.

Tell our new baby girl that we pray for her each morning and each night. Tell her that she is blessed to have three wunderbaar older schweschdern to help care for her. And tell her not to let the boys turn her into a tomboy.

Etta smiled briefly as she rocked Hannah. A lump lodged in her throat at the thought of her missing child, but she pushed it away. Hannah’s first night home wasn’t a time for sadness.

Remember to share our love with Martha, Beth, Charity, and Mose. Tell Christopher, Jana, and Noah that we think of them often. Hug Ben for us, and know that we keep David continually in our prayers.

Above all, know that our heavenly Father cares for you and your family. He will see you through the sleepless nights ahead, as He has done before. He will be your rock and your redeemer.

Much love,
Mammi

Martha passed the letter to Beth, who studied it for a moment and then passed it on to Charity. The next evening they would write a letter back with each person adding their own paragraph of tidbits and news. Etta hadn’t told her parents about the problems with the bank note. She hadn’t wanted to worry them, but now she realized she was underestimating her parents. They would pray with them and encourage them. They couldn’t do that unless Etta was completely honest with them, which meant she had to stop holding back.

Etta realized that her family might not be all under one roof anymore, and the roof they were under might change, but her mother was correct. God cared for each one of them, and He could be trusted.

CHAPTER NINE

The first two months of Hannah’s life passed in a blur of late-night feedings and too little sleep. It was a precious time that Etta vowed to enjoy and remember. When April arrived with blossoming trees and warmer temperatures, she felt as if she were seeing the rebirth of everything around her for the first time. She felt as if God’s blessings filled her life to overflowing.

The only dark cloud was the For Sale sign Mose had placed next to the fence where their property bordered the main road.

“The crops are barely in the ground. The harvest won’t come in time. I’m sorry, Etta, I know you would like to stay here.”

“What I’d like is for my family to be together,” she’d assured him, though she fought the tears threatening to fall.

“That we will, dear.”

She’d sold several of the quilts her mother and grandmother had made. While they were precious to her, they were only quilts—material things. She didn’t need quilts to remember the two most influential women in her life. The money had purchased groceries, the few disposable diapers they used, and paid off part of Doc’s bills.

Etta glanced out the window at the April sunshine as she placed Hannah in the cradle near her rocking chair. Soon it would go to Jana and Christopher, for the next grandkinner was due in the summer.

To Etta, the cradle was a thing of art. The wood was smooth and worn. The small mattress had been made from old quilt pieces sewn inside a homemade sheet. It had been recovered more than once. The cradle, fashioned by Mose’s hands so many years ago, seemed like a constant reminder in their lives—of the love of family, the grace of God, and the importance of faith.

Etta shook her head at the absurdity of her thoughts.

Could an infant’s bed, a simple piece of furniture, represent all of that?

Placing her hand on the cradle and rocking it gently, she decided perhaps it could. Mose had made it when they were first married, when they were a young couple and expecting their first child. Now it held their seventh, an unexpected blessing for sure. It had also been used for their single grandchild, and would soon be used for another. They passed the cradle back and forth, and sometimes laughed that the day would come when they’d need two, if the babies kept coming as quickly as it seemed they would.

Etta lowered herself into the rocking chair next to the cradle, determined to finish some darning. Hannah smiled up at her, raising and waving a tiny fist before stuffing it into her mouth. It was hard to believe her daughter was already two months old!

And what a blessing she was.

Though Hannah was just beginning to sleep through the night, Etta had found she didn’t mind rising to feed her at two in the morning. Those were precious moments that the two of them shared, when the usual bustle around the house turned to quiet and the rest of the family slept. She used that time to pray for her sweet baby—her blizzard baby. Etta wondered that she had actually questioned whether she could do this. Caring for an infant was the most natural thing in the world, and though many days Etta’s eyes stung from lack of sleep and her cooking was more often thrown together casseroles . . . that all faded into the background when she held Hannah in her arms.

She picked up a pair of Mose’s work pants and began darning the persistent hole he managed to wear into the right knee—always the right because he went down on his right knee when mending fences or caring for a calf or playing with Hannah on the floor. Etta worked the needle and thread through the tough fabric, sewing a patch to the back of the worn area. Her mind was on the patch and the stitches, so it took her a moment to realize the sound she heard was that of stomping feet on the back porch—someone clearing the mud off their shoes.

Mose back so early?

That wasn’t like him, but perhaps he’d decided he did want one of the sweet rolls Rachel had brought over the day before. He’d claimed he needed to watch how many sweets he ate, not because of his weight, but his blood sugar. “I need to take care of myself so I can teach this little girl to throw a baseball.”

Etta had laughed at that. The girls in their family had always been better ball players than the boys, a constant source of teasing.

Peering out the window, she saw the April day was heavy with clouds. Perhaps he’d decided an extra cup of coffee and something sweet wasn’t such a bad idea. Before Hannah’s arrival he rarely came back to the house in the middle of the morning. More and more it was becoming a daily occurrence. They’d talked about it a few evenings ago, and Mose admitted that he understood too well how quickly children grew.

“It’s gut you don’t work away from home, like so many Englisch. You would miss too many precious moments with her.”

“Amish too,” Mose had reminded her. “More and more of our men are going to work in the factories.”

Not their sons, and for that she was grateful.

At least not Ben and Christopher.

She even found it in her heart to be thankful that Mose had been turned down for the factory job he’d sought. She wanted him home, even if home was someplace else. He was a good farmer, and he would provide for them in spite of crops and bank payments.

The sound of the back door opening and closing brought a smile to her lips.

She set the darning into her basket and stood, prepared to go to the kitchen and fetch a snack for Mose while he played with Hannah.

And that was when her youngest son stepped into the room.

At the sight of David, Etta felt her heart jump in her chest. A small cry must have escaped from her lips, because Hannah startled and began to fuss.

Etta flew across the room into David’s arms.

He laughed and returned her embrace, even lifting her off the ground. When he set her back down, she reached up to touch his jaw—clean-shaven and sturdier. He’d grown since she’d seen him last. He was now taller and broader in the shoulders. While he’d been away, he had become a man.

“Has it really been more than two years?”

“Ya, it has.”

“It’s so gut to see you.” She cupped his right cheek in her palm, kissed him on the left, and then grabbed his hand. “Come and meet Hannah.”

“I thought I heard a boppli’s cry. So I’m an onkel again.”

Etta picked up the babe and placed her in David’s arms. “Say hello to you schweschder.”

David’s eyes widened. “Schweschder?”

“Ya. We were as surprised as you are, but then, we’ve had longer to get used to the idea.”

At that moment, Mose came in the back door. “I saw someone walking up the lane. Looked like it might be—”

Etta thought the next moment would remain crystal clear in her mind should she live to be one hundred. David turned toward Mose. Hannah was nestled against his shoulder and chose that moment to reach over and touch his face. Mose froze where he stood, and her husband’s face changed in an instant, changed as hers must have. It seemed to her that he went through disbelief, shock, and then joy. In that moment, the years fell away as the worry he had carried over his son all this time evaporated in a moment of grace.

He moved toward David, not having said a word.

David stood completely still, as if he had been sure of his mother’s reception but wary of his father’s. Had words passed between the two? Possibly. She suddenly couldn’t remember the precise details of the day he had left. Did it even matter? Since that day many prayers had been lifted in hope and trust and yes, a degree of anxiousness, perhaps on both sides.

The moment held, frozen in Etta’s mind, and then it was broken.

Mose wrapped his arms around David.

David smiled over his dad’s shoulder, smiled at Etta.

Hannah let out a squeal as she was embraced between father and son.

As they gathered around the kitchen table, David described his trip from Pennsylvania and the effects of the recent heavy rains there. The Amish and Mennonite communities were pulling together to assist those with flooded homes and crops that would need to be replanted.

“So you’re helping with disaster relief.” Mose leaned back in his chair. He’d limited himself to half a sweet roll, which wasn’t a big concession since each was as big as Etta’s plates.

“Ya. I’ve been working with MDS the last two years.”

“Mennonite Disaster Service does fine work.” Mose stood and refilled his coffee cup, waving the pot toward them, but Etta and David declined.

“It’s gut to know you’ve been using your time away to help others.” Etta reached across the table and squeezed her son’s hand. How many of her prayers had been answered in the last hour? She was ashamed that she had ever doubted God’s will in their lives, in her son’s life.

“Why is the place for sale, Dat?”

Etta thought Mose might avoid the question. Instead, he looked at David and said, “Because we don’t have the money to pay the note. Last year’s harvest was bad—”

“What about your savings?”

“Gone. Used for the doctor bill, birthing center, and to help make ends meet all winter.”

When David shook his head, Mose added, “We’d been behind all of last year. Two of the work horses took sick and died. I tried to work without replacing them, but I had to reduce the size of the crop.”

“And then the crop didn’t make it,” Etta said.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” David asked.

“From you?” Mose folded his arms. “How would we have found you?”

David cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“There’s no need to be sorry. Gotte has provided, and He will again. Just not here. We’ll start over somewhere else—maybe Ohio or Kentucky. The farm should fetch a good price. I’ve put in a crop, so whoever purchases the house and fields will be able to walk in and start immediately rather than waiting a year.”

David stared at Hannah, then asked, “Do you want to move?”

“Makes no difference what we want.” Mose’s tone reflected his growing impatience.

“But if you did have a choice—”

“There’s no use talking ifs.” Mose stood, kissed Hannah on the head, and touched Etta’s shoulder. It hurt her to see conflict between them, but she also understood that these were things that needed to be aired.

“Now I have work to do.”

He moved toward the mudroom but stopped when David stood and said, “They’ve offered me a job.”

“Who?”

“MDS.”

“There’s plenty of work here. We could use your hand with the farming and with the move.” Mose offered this in a neutral tone. He wasn’t reprimanding his son. He was stating a fact.

“I’m sure there is, but my bruders—”

“Each has places of their own. We always hoped you would return, David. We always prayed and expected that you would. It’s past time for you to act like a man, not a boy.”

“You have no idea what I do, and how is accepting a job acting like a boy?”

“You have responsibilities to your family. I think it’s time you lived up to those.”

David walked to the sink. He rinsed his cup and plate and set them aside. When he turned back to his parents, Etta realized that his mind was made. A small part of her heart broke then, because she understood that it meant this was a temporary visit.

“I’m joining the Mennonite church. It’s where I belong.”

Neither Etta nor Mose spoke.

“The job, it’s disaster response coordinator for the East, an area that stretches from Pennsylvania to Florida.” He returned to the table. Instead of looking apologetic, his expression was one of excitement. “I’ve worked in many of these areas the last two years. I enjoy the labor, and I’ve overseen jobsites determining the most effective place to direct folks who show up to volunteer and also coordinating with the local community. It’s a job I’m gut at, and one that brings me satisfaction.”

“You feel called—” Etta placed Hannah across her knees. The boppli had fallen asleep as soon as they’d sat at the table.

“I do.”

Mose ran a hand through his beard. “You needn’t join the Mennonite church to work for MDS. There are many Amish who—”

“There are.”

“Why do you always have to rebel? Why can’t you do the normal thing for once?”

“Because it’s not what I’m supposed to do.” David closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. “Don’t you see? My experiences—the way you raised me—they’re part of the reason I’m perfect for this job. I’ve grown up in the heart of one of the largest Amish communities in the country. I understand, better than our friends within the Mennonite community, how to work with different groups of Plain folk.”

“And their beliefs?” Mose again crossed the room. “Their beliefs are different from ours. They do not remain separate. They embrace much that we have rejected. There are reasons for this!”

“Their ways are not so different from ours—”

“Different enough.” Mose frowned at the table, ran his hand over the pine wood.

“It’s true that we—Mennonites—accept more of the technology.”

“Cars . . .” Mose shook his head.

“Yes, cars, which are quite helpful if you’re moving up and down the East Coast coordinating jobs—a distance of more than fifteen hundred miles.” He held up his hand to stop his father’s protests. “I realize I could use the buses. Were it only the inconvenience of traveling by bus, I would still do so. However, it’s also impractical. Often when we need to be on a jobsite, the situation is dire and it’s important that I arrive as quickly as possible. On more than one occasion, the people we were serving were without homes.”

Mose grunted but didn’t respond.

“The Mennonite rules for living are different, but our faith is the same. You know this, Dat. I am sure that working with the MDS is where Gotte would have me.”

“And you’ve prayed about it?” Etta asked.

“Of course. That’s the reason I’m here. I want your blessing, and I’d like the blessing of the bishop as well.”

Mose stared out the window. Etta realized that he was releasing his dream in that moment. He was accepting that his son wouldn’t work beside him in the fields.

When he turned around, a hint of a smile returned to his expression. “There will be no shunning, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nein. I didn’t think there would be, since I didn’t join the church before I left.”

“As far as the bishop, Simon will be pleased. He works closely with MDS. I have no doubt he will give you his blessing.”

“And what of you?” David’s voice cracked slightly. “Will you give me your blessing? It means a lot to me.”

Etta feared then that Mose would ask David to stay, that he would attempt to talk him out of this thing that obviously meant so much to him.

He didn’t, though. Instead, he walked around the table. David met him halfway, and Mose enfolded him in an embrace. “You have it.”

Etta joined them, placing Hannah in Mose’s arms and turning to David. She put one hand on each of his shoulders, marveling again that he had grown so much since he’d left.

God had been faithful to answer their prayers, though He’d done so in a way they couldn’t have anticipated.

“You’re following Gotte’s wille, David. That’s all we ever wanted. Now, tell me you’re staying longer than for one meal. Your bruders and schweschder will want to see you.”

“I have the entire week off.”

Seven days. That was what she would have with her son who had been lost, but was no longer. It wasn’t what she’d dreamed of, but she vowed to be grateful nonetheless. She would make sure that she stored up enough memories to last until he could visit them again.

David smiled, then turned to follow his father out into the fields. He might only be staying a few days, but Etta had the feeling he would spend that time working. She could tell by the look of him that he wasn’t accustomed to sitting still.

As she carried her infant back to the sitting room and placed her in the cradle, Etta’s heart was full with prayers of gratitude and hope.

She returned to her darning, and as she sewed, she prayed. Gotte, bless David in all he does. I’ve known since he was a boppli, as small as Hannah, that he would find a place in Your plan. Cover him with grace, and fill his heart with Your mercy.

She continued sewing, pulling the thread and needle through the rough, blue fabric. And please provide us a place to live. Send a buyer for our home—a gut family who will raise healthy, faithful children here. Prepare us for whatever lies ahead.

CHAPTER TEN

Mose watched his family as they settled into their Saturday-evening activities. The boys, men actually, had trudged out to the barn to see to the animals. The girls cleared the dishes from the table and helped their mamm return the kitchen area to its orderly condition.

The meal had been a special one—with all seven of their children present. Ben had traveled over from Middlebury and was planning to stay through the weekend, attending the worship service with them the next day. Christopher was also present, with Jana and Noah, which brought the total of their kinner and grandkinner to nine. A good number, in Mose’s opinion. A full family, and each one of them a blessing to him and Etta.

Mose brought in more firewood for the stove and paused now and again to check on Hannah. She was sleeping peacefully in her cradle, there in the sitting room. Mose found it a marvel each time he stared into her sweet little face—to think he and Etta had produced such a miracle even in their middle ages. To think that God had blessed them yet again.

Within the hour, everyone was gathered in the sitting room.

“What kind of disasters do you see?” Charity asked David. At twelve, she was full of questions, which was perhaps why she read so much. He rarely saw the girl when she didn’t have her nose in a book, even when she was feeding the chickens.

“All sorts.” David was sitting on the floor, rolling a wooden horse back and forth with Noah. “Floods, fires, blizzards—you name it and it seems to eventually happen.”

“Will you be going on for more education?” Beth was now out of school and worked at the pretzel stand in town, but she’d recently confessed that she dreamed of one day opening her own bakery. “I don’t need schooling to be a gut cook, but it seems that what you do might call for it.”

“Nein. I don’t think so. Most of what I need to know I can learn from those more experienced than I am. If I decide to go back to school, though, it would be for my high school equivalency and then, I suppose, to pursue a construction science degree.”

“With all that studying, your head would grow so big your hat wouldn’t fit anymore.” Ben had always enjoyed teasing his younger brother.

Instead of rising to the bait, David smiled and nodded.

Mose nearly laughed to see his children scattered around the room. Saturday evenings had been this way when they were young, and little had changed in that regard. Ben and Christopher set up a game of checkers. Charity plopped into a chair and opened a book, though her gaze kept darting from its pages to her brothers and sisters. The older girls were huddled over their yarn and needles, having discovered a new pattern for baby blankets, which they sold at Davis Mercantile. Christopher spoke of the weather and the prediction for more rain.

Finally, Etta entered the room, appearing at the same moment Hannah began to fuss. She scooped the baby out of her cradle and settled in the rocker.

“What of the land, Dat?” Ben asked as he made his first move in the checker game.

“What of it?”

“Have you had any offers?” Christopher asked.

“Yes, one, but it wasn’t what I hoped for. It would barely be enough to pay off the note. We’ll wait and see if someone else offers more.”

“Maybe you don’t have to sell.”

Everyone turned to stare at David.

“We’ve been through this, son.”

“I spoke with my boss this afternoon.” The room fell silent. Mose had no idea what David was getting at, but he was sure that it wasn’t going to solve their problems. How could it? Mennonite Disaster Services helped families who had suffered disasters—his finances were bad but he couldn’t blame them on a flood, blizzard, or fire.

“There’s a program with the university over in South Bend.” David stood and began pacing the room. “They have an agricultural program that visits Amish farms, because acre for acre, Amish farms produce more than Englisch.”

Mose ducked his head and muttered, “He’s telling this to a man about to lose his farm from crop failure.”

“That’s just it, Dat. What happened to you was due to a wet year and late planting, but walk out into your fields now. You’ve recovered.”

“Not in time.”

“You don’t understand. They’ll pay to send students out. They want to learn our ways of farming, ways that combine the best of the old Englisch ways and what we’ve learned since about rotating crops, leaving stalks in the field, things that to you and me are common sense.”

“And they would pay gut money to come and watch me work?”

“They’ll pay to learn from you.”

All of their children started talking at once.

Mose stopped them by raising his hand, palm out. “I wouldn’t be comfortable having Englischers traipsing around my fields.”

“The program lasts for eight weeks each semester. They’d be here three days a week. Students are carefully screened to be sure they are a good fit—that they understand our ways and respect them.”

When Mose didn’t stop him, David continued, “I was talking to my boss about the details, and he thinks this place would be perfect. I also took the liberty of speaking with our bishop—”

“You did what?”

“You told me to take responsibility, to act like a man. Well, a man doesn’t sit around and watch his family lose their home.” Then David named the amount the university was willing to pay. “Not only will they watch, but they’ll also help. They’ll be training Englischers who have family farms, so it’s important they have hands-on experience.”

“The money we need and free labor in the fields.” Etta looked at him, her eyebrows cocked and a smile tugging at her lips.

“I like David’s idea.” Ben turned from the game and studied his father. “But if you don’t, I’m still willing to sell my place in Middlebury and move back.”

“Nein. You found prime land there and at a gut price.”

“I could try to cut back on my time at the farrier’s.” Christopher exchanged glances with his wife.

Mose realized too well that they needed the extra income Christopher was able to earn working in town. It was difficult to be a full-time farmer these days, particularly when you were first starting out, as Christopher and Jana were.

“You need that money, especially with another boppli on the way.”

Jana blushed at the mention of her pregnancy, but she didn’t contradict him about the need for additional income.

“Gotte has provided for us, all of these years, and we can trust that He will provide again. What David has suggested, I will need to think and pray on it. I’m an old man and decisions take longer than they used to.” That statement brought a chuckle from several of his children.

The future—it was often uncertain. Most men in the Amish community, when they reached the age of fifty or fifty-five, began handing over their farmland to one of their sons. It was unclear how this would work in their case, but Mose had learned to accept such unknowns as a part of life. Though he had to admit that he had thought about the question often over the last twenty-four hours, actually since the day that David had left. God had provided part of the answer with David’s commitment to disaster relief work. The question of the university’s help? His heart wanted to agree, but he needed to speak to his bishop first. At least now they had an option that would allow them to stay.

When Mose reached for Hannah, his hands lightly brushed against Etta’s. The contact sent a river of warmth through her arms, and the smile Mose gave her—it seemed to reach deep into her heart.

Etta realized she was more emotional since Hannah’s birth. She cried more easily—like last week when she had burned the cornbread—but she also smiled more. It seemed as though she felt things keenly, as though before she had kept her emotions at a distance so that there were few highs and lows. Now she felt things sharply—sorrow, joy, happiness, love, and even loss. The people and happenings around her touched her heart more than ever before.

She understood this was a result of her hormones, as Doc Bennett had warned her. “You’ll be dealing with postpartum hormonal changes at the same time you’re coping with hormonal fluctuations due to menopause. Give yourself time and rest when you need it—and come to see me if your mood swings feel severe.”

She hadn’t needed to see Doc Bennett.

She had found herself next door at Rachel’s several times a week. More than once she had sat and wept over some inconsequential thing as Rachel had made them both a cup of hot tea. But just as often she’d hurried next door because she needed to share a joy.

Some new thing Hannah had done.

A kind moment that had passed between her and Mose.

The way the landscape around them was coming to life in the trees, the gardens, and the fields. Those times Rachel had smiled and walked with her out into their yard where they’d sat and enjoyed the day for a brief moment before returning to their work.

Etta realized more than ever the value of a good friend, one who was near and kind and wise.

She also realized the blessing of her family—whole again, if only for the weekend.

And David’s suggestion for saving their farm? She thought Mose would agree. It allowed them to stay within the community, and it provided the income they needed. The fact that David had already spoken with their bishop about it confirmed in her heart that it was the right thing to do.

Picking up a baby blanket she was quilting, she spoke to David. “Perhaps when you are in Florida, you can check out Pinecraft. I’ve heard it’s a wunderbaar place to visit in the winter. Who knows, your dat and I might even make it down there one day.”

“You and Dat? Taking a vacation?” David smiled as Noah climbed onto his lap, then plopped down. His expression quickly turned to one of puzzlement, then unpleasant surprise. “I believe this one has a full diaper, Jana.”

Everyone laughed at the way David picked up Noah, holding the child out and away from him.

“Ya, a vacation is a gut idea.” Mose cradled Hannah in his arms. She immediately began reaching for him, eventually coming into contact with his beard and smiling broadly when she did so.

Hannah . . . Hannah, their unexpected blessing. They would enjoy her more than the rest, perhaps because they did understand how quickly time passed. And a vacation to Pinecraft? Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a wild idea. Not that they would be vacationing soon, but in a year or two? Anything was possible.

Though there might not be many grandparents with a young boppli, she had a feeling there would be a few.

“Florida sounds like a wunderbaar place to spend a week during the winter,” she admitted. “Much better than being stuck in a buggy in a blizzard.”

“We’ll try not to repeat that experience,” Mose agreed.

Their eyes met. Mose winked, and Etta didn’t even try to stop the smile spreading across her face.

“Mamm and Dat, they’re growing a little narrisch in their old age,” Charity explained to David. “Must be the lack of sleep from baby Hannah.”

“Ya, no doubt that’s hard for someone in their golden years.”

The teasing continued until Noah came running back into the room proclaiming he had on clean, dry pants. Soon the boys returned to discussing the weather, and the girls once again took up their needlework.

Hannah began insisting on her nighttime feeding, so Etta took her into the bedroom, changed her into her evening gown and a fresh diaper, and nursed her.

When she returned to the sitting area, Mose was waiting to say good night to his youngest. He held Hannah high in the crook of his arm and softly whispered to her in German. Etta was suddenly aware that all of their other children were watching. Perhaps they were remembering similar moments, if it was possible to remember something that had happened to one so young.

“You are a blessing, little Hannah.” He kissed her on the cheek and then placed her into the cradle, covering her with the small quilt Jana had brought over as a gift.

Etta sat in the rocker and resumed her needlework, but Mose kept his hand on the cradle, rocking it gently until their little blessing was peacefully dreaming.

READING GROUP GUIDE

1. At the beginning of this story, we see the friendship between Etta and Rachel. In what ways does this friendship help Etta through a trying time?

2. Change is something that is difficult for all of us. Etta is dealing with several changes in this story—from where she will birth her baby to having a newborn at age forty-two. What Bible verse helps you most during times of change?

3. How would you describe the relationship between Etta and Mose? They’ve had trouble in the past, but they seem to have weathered it. What do you think helped them retain their love and respect for one another?

4. David is described as Etta’s “lost child.” However, the family has never actually given up on him. What can we do when someone we love has chosen a different path?

5. This is a story of unexpected blessings. Discuss a blessing in your life that seemed like more of a trial at the beginning. How did God show you that it was something to be grateful for?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is dedicated to my editor, Becky Philpott. Becky has seen me through several manuscripts. She never fails to provide timely advice, good suggestions, and the occasional cat picture to brighten my day. For this story, she also provided me with my main characters—a lovely couple she met in Indiana. I adore you, Becky. Big hugs and thank you for all you do to bring my fiction to readers.

Thanks also to my pre-readers: Donna, Dorsey, and Kristy. You girls are faithful and true and always come through for me. I’d also like to once again thank Mary Sue Seymour, who has been my agent since the beginning of this journey. A special thank-you to Connie Voight, who provided and made the soup recipe for me, and to Marie Daugherty for the cornbread recipe. Also, I owe a debt of gratitude to Kris Stutzman from Lolly’s Fabrics in Shipshewana. She always faithfully answers my questions. I enjoyed this return visit to northern Indiana. If you’re in the area I encourage you to visit the Amish communities in Elkhart, Goshen, Middlebury, Nappanee, and Shipshewana.

And finally . . . “always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).

Blessings,
Vannetta

RECIPES FROM VANNETTA CHAPMAN’S
An Unexpected Blessing

GROUND BEEF, SPINACH, AND BARLEY SOUP

12 ounces ground beef

4 cups water

14 ounces stewed tomatoes

1½ cups sliced carrots

1 cup chopped onion

½ cup quick-cooking barley

1½ teaspoons beef bouillon

1½ teaspoons dried thyme

1 teaspoon dried oregano

½ teaspoon garlic powder

¼ teaspoon black pepper

⅛ teaspoon salt

3 cups spinach leaves

Brown beef in large saucepan over medium heat until no longer pink. Drain grease. Add all water, stewed tomatoes, carrots, onion, barley, bouillon granules, thyme, oregano, garlic powder, pepper, and salt.

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium-low. Cover and simmer 12 to 15 minutes or until barley and vegetables are tender, stirring occasionally. Stir in spinach. Cook until spinach starts to wilt, usually within 1 or 2 minutes.

Makes 4 servings.

*Adapted from Amish Country Cookbook, Publications International, Ltd.

CORNBREAD

2 cups self-rising cornmeal

1 cup self-rising flour

½ cup buttermilk

3 tablespoons oil
water

Grease a 10-inch cast-iron skillet with vegetable oil. Put skillet in 400-degree oven to warm while mixing up your cornbread ingredients.

In large bowl, mix cornmeal, flour, and buttermilk. Mix in enough water to make mixture look like cake batter. Remove skillet from oven and pour batter into hot skillet. Return skillet to the oven, and bake until golden brown on top, approximately 20 minutes.

*Recipe provided by Marie Daugherty.

OTHER BOOKS BY VANNETTA CHAPMAN

The Shipshewana Amish
Mystery novels
Falling to Pieces
Perfect Square
Material Witness

The Amish Village Mystery novels
Murder Simply Brewed
Murder Tightly Knit
Murder Freshly Baked (Available May 2015)

AUTHOR BIO

Photograph by Jason Irwin

Vannetta Chapman is the author of the bestselling novel A Simple Amish Christmas. She has published over one hundred articles in Christian family magazines, receiving over two dozen awards from Romance Writers of America chapter groups. In 2012 she was awarded a Carol Award for Falling to Pieces. She discovered her love for the Amish while researching her grandfather’s birthplace of Albion, Pennsylvania. Visit Vannetta’s website at www.vannettachapman.com Twitter: @VannettaChapman Facebook: VannettaChapmanBooks

An Excerpt from
In His Father's Arms

Prologue

Ruth Anne squeezed her eyes closed and held her breath as she sat beside her husband in the hospital waiting room. They left Bethany’s room because her best friend’s wailing was more than Ruth Anne could bear. Levi leaned closer to her, the roughness of his brown beard grazing her cheek as he whispered, “You know your delivery won’t be like this. Bethany has never had gut tolerance for pain.”

She opened her eyes, glanced around the waiting room, then also spoke softly. “Having babies hurts. Even Mamm said that God makes sure we shed the memory. Otherwise, we’d all just have one child.” She squeezed her lips together and held her breath again, remembering Bethany’s cries.

Ruth Anne looked around the room again. Both of Bethany’s parents were here, along with her in-laws and cousins. About twenty folks waiting for little Esther Rose to arrive.

Levi leaned close to her again. “Ruthie, you’re gonna do real fine. Mary Elizabeth is going to see to that.” He gave a taut nod at the mention of the midwife who would be delivering their baby. Unlike her best friend, Ruth Anne had chosen not to deliver in a hospital, and she’d also opted not to have an ultrasound. Or pain medication. But as she listened to Bethany struggle, she was starting to second-guess her choices. But her husband was right. They’d all grown up together, and Bethany made a fuss over the smallest of ailments.

Ruth Anne stood and walked down the hall to listen at her friend’s door. She strained to hear something since Bethany had grown quiet. She silently prayed that the worst of the pain was over and that little Esther Rose had made a safe and healthy arrival into the world.

It was about twenty minutes later when John walked into the waiting area, a tiny bundle swaddled in his arms. His ear-to-ear smile was proof that all was well. Everyone rushed toward him, and Levi helped lift Ruth Anne from her chair. As scared of the delivery as she was, she had to admit she was ready to hold her own baby in her arms.

She waited until the grandparents and other family members had a chance to see Esther Rose before she and Levi moved toward the proud father.

“She’s beautiful,” Ruth Anne said as she eyed the tiny infant with a hint of Bethany’s red hair. “Welcome, Esther Rose.”

Ruth Anne and Bethany had both found out they were pregnant the same week, and they’d spent the last nine months knitting baby clothes, setting up nurseries, and preparing for these blessed events. She thanked God for Esther’s safe arrival.

“The doctor said she’s just perfect.” John beamed as he gazed down at his daughter. He didn’t lift his eyes when he added, “And Bethany did just great.”

Ruth Anne swallowed hard. If that was great, she wondered what not-so-great would have sounded like. She put a hand across her tummy, wondering if God would bless her with a boy or a girl.

Levi said it didn’t matter to him if they had a daughter or a son, but Ruth Anne knew he wanted a son. All three of his brothers had daughters. Five total. Levi was hoping to give his parents their first grandson.

Ruth Anne smiled as John said he needed to get back to Bethany, and then he gave both sets of grandparents a final peek at Esther Rose before he left the waiting room. Ruth Anne and Levi said their good-byes and left through another door that led to the parking lot where a line of buggies were tethered. Levi reached for her hand and squeezed.

“I can’t wait to see who shows up in our life—Joshua or Eva Mae.”

Waddling alongside him as fast as she could, she said, “Me either.”

And if truth be told—Ruth Anne was secretly hoping for a boy too. Somehow she sensed that Joshua would be making his entrance soon.

Chapter 1

Ruth Anne held off pushing when Mary Elizabeth said to, even though she was sure the baby was going to come out anyway. Levi stood at the end of their bed, white as the sheet that covered Ruth Anne. He apparently had forgotten everything he was supposed to do during the birthing process. Ruth Anne had asked for her mother to come in four hours ago, and she’d only just arrived. And she’d asked for pain medication. Repeatedly. As she focused on a stuffed elephant on her bedroom dresser, she tried to recall the day she and Levi had gone to the fair, but the pain wouldn’t allow her to shift her thinking. She’d packed a small red suitcase, which now sat in the corner, in case of an emergency and they needed to rush to the hospital, but Mary Elizabeth had assured her that everything was going well.

“Not quite yet,” Mary Elizabeth said as she positioned herself on the stool at the end of Ruth Anne’s bed. She pulled the sheets to the side and checked Ruth Anne again. “Levi, I see the head. Look.”

Ruth Anne hadn’t cried out and wailed the way Bethany had, but this was indeed the worst pain she’d ever felt in her life. Even worse than when she broke her leg in three places when she was seven. But when she saw her husband move in closer and a smile light up his face, she knew that Joshua was almost here.

“Wow,” her husband whispered before he looked up at Ruth Anne. “I can see the head. I can see the head.”

“Oh, blessed be the Lord,” Ruth Anne’s mother said as she reached for her daughter’s hand.

“It’s time, Ruth Anne. You can push.” Mary Elizabeth edged Levi to the side as Ruth Anne held tightly to her mother’s hand.

Ruth Anne pushed with all her might, knowing she sounded like Bethany and not caring. She followed Mary Elizabeth’s instructions and kept pushing and pushing and pushing—and crying. The pain, the anticipation, the miracle of birth . . . Her emotions were all over the place. But when she heard a tiny cry and felt the pressure ease from her body, she drew in a deep breath and wept. Her mother walked to the end of the bed, her eyes tearing up.

“It’s a boy,” Mamm said as she brought both hands to her chest.

Thank You, God. She closed her eyes and thanked Him again. After a couple more deep breaths, she looked up just in time to see her mother and Mary Elizabeth exchange looks, both leaning closer to the baby.

“What? What’s wrong? What is it?” She tried to lift herself, but couldn’t. “Levi!” she screamed. “What’s wrong?”

Levi was sure he’d never seen a more precious sight in his life. He quickly counted his son’s fingers and toes. Ten. And he was breathing. And beautiful. He looked at Mary Elizabeth, waiting for confirmation that everything was okay since his wife was acting concerned all of a sudden.

“Ya, dear. Ya. Everything is fine.” Mary Elizabeth smiled as she and Ruth Anne’s mother cleaned the baby. Once they were done, both women touched Joshua’s feet, and as Levi leaned closer, he saw why they were studying his son in such a way.

“His big toes are a long way from the other ones.” It was almost like an extra toe could fit there. “Will he be able to walk okay?”

Mary Elizabeth nodded. “Everything is fine.” She swaddled Joshua and handed him to Levi. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son. He’d always heard that the love a person has for a child isn’t like any other kind of love, but experiencing the emotion had caught him off guard. He hated to cry, but a tear slipped down his cheek just the same.

“Let me see. Let me see.” Ruth Anne had both arms stretched toward him.

Levi didn’t want to turn his son loose, but Ruth Anne was anxious. He handed her their baby boy, then put a hand on his wife’s arm. He wished his mother were here. Levi’s parents and siblings lived in Hershey, too far to travel by buggy, so he didn’t get to see his family as often as he would like. Had it not been for a mutual friend’s wedding in Paradise, Levi might not have ever met Ruth Anne. His mother had planned to hire a driver so she could be here, but a feverish cold had kept her away today.

“You did gut, Ruthie. You did so gut. Isn’t he the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen?”

Ruth Anne met eyes with her son, each studying the other. There was no doubt that it was love at first sight for her too. “His eyes are so blue. Will they stay that color?” She glanced toward the end of the bed, but both the midwife and Ruth Anne’s mother were talking in low voices in the corner of the room. After a few seconds, Mary Elizabeth walked back to the bed.

“He is a beautiful baby.” She shrugged, smiling. “And who knows if his eyes will stay so blue. Some do and some don’t.”

Both Levi and Ruth Anne had brown eyes, so Levi figured the likelihood of Joshua’s eyes staying blue were slim. And that was fine by him. Joshua was perfect in every way. Except maybe his toes, but that was certainly something they could live with.

“Mary Elizabeth said we need to cart little Joshua to the pediatrician. Maybe tomorrow if you feel up to it.” Carolyn smiled, but Ruth Anne’s mother had never been good at hiding her emotions, and Levi could tell the smile was forced.

“What’s wrong?” Ruth Anne’s eyes grew round, and Levi could feel his pulse quickening.

“Everything is fine,” Mary Elizabeth said again. “Remember, we talked about this, that the baby would need to be thoroughly checked out by a doctor.”

“But you said we could wait a few days as long as everything looked okay.” Ruth Anne peeled back the swaddling and began inspecting their son, eventually latching onto one of his tiny feet. “Are you worried about his feet?” She glanced at Levi before she looked at Mary Elizabeth. “Because no one will see his little toes most of the time anyway.” She smiled.

Levi helped her bundle Joshua back up. Their son had closed his eyes, but Levi could see him breathing.

“So beautiful.” Levi’s mother-in-law folded her hands in front of her as she stared at Ruth Anne and Joshua. But Levi saw her blink back tears before she asked, “Shall I go get the others?”

Mary Elizabeth finished cleaning up Ruth Anne and draped fresh covers on her. “Are you ready to show the world your precious son?”

Ruth Anne and Levi both nodded. Levi was anxious for their family to see their boy. There were probably twenty people in the living room waiting to visit.

Levi gazed upon his son with so much love in his heart that it almost hurt. When he finally pulled his eyes from the baby, he saw that Ruth Anne’s mother and Mary Elizabeth were back in the corner again. Despite the fact that everyone kept saying everything was fine, in the pit of his stomach, Levi knew it wasn’t.

Chapter 2

Two days after Joshua’s birth, Ruth Anne was sore, tired, and disappointed that Joshua hadn’t latched onto her breast, so she’d been pumping her milk and feeding him with a bottle. Mary Elizabeth had set the appointment with the pediatrician in Lancaster for today. What made the niggling worry bearable was the love that was growing by the minute for little Joshua.

Watching Levi interact with Joshua was deepening her love for her husband in a way she didn’t know was possible. And he wasn’t only attentive with Joshua, but also with her. She didn’t remember her father ever being so involved in their lives. Just five years ago they’d gotten a surprise when Katie came along. Ruth Anne tended to her mother while her father headed back to the fields within an hour of Katie’s delivery.

“Do you think everything is okay?” Ruth Anne twirled the string on her kapp as Levi held their sleeping infant. “Dr. Prescott said they were doing some blood tests. Is that normal?”

“I’m sure Bethany’s baby had all that stuff done too. It’s routine.” Levi continued to gently rock Joshua, not taking his eyes off of him, while they waited in Dr. Prescott’s office. Ruth Anne looked at the clock on the wall. They’d been waiting for almost thirty minutes. She jumped a little when the door opened.

Dr. Prescott was young. The woman must have had to go through lots of schooling to be a doctor, but Ruth Anne didn’t think she looked old enough for that.

“Hey, you guys,” she said as she walked around her desk and sat down. She even talks like a young person. Ruth Anne scanned the doctor’s desk. On the desk sat a wedding picture of Dr. Prescott and her husband, lots of file folders, and a stack of books on the doctor’s left. “Sorry it took so long.” She opened a folder. Smiling, she said, “What a beautiful boy Joshua is. Isn’t he just amazing?”

“Ya. He is.” Ruth Anne glanced at her baby in his father’s arms, then back at the doctor. “Is he of gut health?” The doctor had examined Joshua earlier for what seemed like a long time. Then they’d been asked to wait in her office until she finished with another patient.

Dr. Prescott opened her mouth to speak, but pressed her lips together when the door opened and an older man walked in. He was slightly hunched over, with gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses, and wearing a white coat.

Dr. Prescott nodded toward the man. “Ruth Anne and Levi, this is Dr. Calhoun. I’ve invited him to join us.”

When the doctor offered his hand, Ruth Anne shook it. The older man gave Levi time to shift Joshua into the nook of his left arm, and they shook hands as well.

“Listen, guys.” Dr. Prescott sat taller and folded her hands on her desk. “I’ve brought Dr. Calhoun in so that he can talk to you about a condition we believe your son has.”

Ruth Anne swallowed back a lump in her throat, but quickly thought about the power of prayer. She’d prayed away problems, ailments, worries, and the like her entire life. She held her breath. Please, God. Don’t let it be bad. Please, God. Please, God. Please. Don’t let anything be wrong with our baby. Ruth Anne looked at her husband, sure he wasn’t breathing either, but a glance at Joshua let her know that even if they weren’t, their son was breathing just fine.

“Have either of you heard of Down’s syndrome?” Dr. Calhoun took a step farther into the room, but he remained standing despite the fact that there was another chair against the wall. Ruth Anne shook her head, then looked at Levi. Her husband blinked back tears.

“Don’t tell me our Joshua has Down’s syndrome,” he said as he shook his head. “He doesn’t. I know he doesn’t. I’ve seen kinner with Down’s syndrome. Their faces look different. Our Joshua looks just fine.” He lifted the baby a little bit. “Look at him. He looks like a normal baby.”

Ruth Anne felt light-headed. She’d never heard of this Down’s disease, but it was scaring her the way Joshua was reacting. “Can you tell us what this is? This disease?”

“It’s not really a disease. It’s a syndrome, and I know this is a lot to handle for anyone, to get word of this about your child. Especially since you are both young and first-time parents.” Dr. Calhoun pulled the chair closer to Ruth Anne. Maybe he sensed that she might keel over. He sat down, put his hands on his knees, and focused on Ruth Anne since Levi was scowling and wouldn’t even look at him.

“How sick is he?” Ruth Anne wished her mother were here holding her hand. Mamm had offered to come, but Ruth Anne was trying to be a grown-up, so she’d declined. She’d only been married to Levi for a year, and while he’d been very nurturing throughout her pregnancy, right now he was trembling and just staring at Joshua. But they were both nineteen. Mature adults.

Levi glared at the doctor. “He doesn’t have it. My third cousin had Down’s syndrome and this isn’t it.” He looked at his son again.

“Doesn’t have what? I don’t understand what this is. Will he be all right?” Ruth Anne’s voice was cracking, and the woozy feeling in her head was getting worse. “Is there medicine for it?”

Dr. Prescott cleared her throat. “Ruth Anne, like Dr. Calhoun said, it isn’t really a disease. When a person has a full or partial extra copy of a certain chromosome, chromosome 21, it can genetically alter development, and we call this Down’s syndrome.” She paused, but Ruth Anne still didn’t have a clue what she was talking about or what was wrong with her baby. “Your midwife noticed the gap between Joshua’s big toes and second toes. This is a clue that a child could have this syndrome.”

“So, do we fix his feet? I don’t think it looks bad, but if it will help him to walk or—”

“It’s not just his feet, Ruthie!” Levi’s face was red, his bottom lip trembling. “It’s . . . it’s . . .” He finally lowered his head after his eyes teared up. “Explain it to her.”

Ruth Anne started to cry. “I’m scared. What does this mean?”

“Honey, I know you’re upset,” Dr. Prescott said. “I brought in Dr. Calhoun because his office is in this building, and I wanted to be sure before I told you. This condition has all kinds of physical distinctions, and some won’t become apparent until little Joshua gets a bit older. But he does already have some of the common traits.” She nodded toward their baby. “Do you see how his eyes have an upward and outward slant?”

Ruth Anne swiped at her eyes, then leaned closer to her son. “My aunt has eyes kind of like that.” She shrugged. “We can live with that.”

Dr. Prescott turned to a computer that was on the desk in front of her and began to type. After a few moments, she turned the screen so that Ruth Anne and Levi could see it along with her. “Here are some varying degrees of Down’s syndrome. See how the mouth is small and the lips are thin in this picture?” She pointed to another one. “The head is a bit smaller than average sometimes, and the ears are lower set. The arms and legs are—”

Ruth Anne sobbed, waiting for Levi to offer comfort, but he just sat staring at Joshua. Then he started to cry also. She touched his arm. “But we will love him no matter what.” She looked at Dr. Prescott and spoke in a shaky voice. “We already love him more than life. He is perfect.”

Dr. Prescott reached over and put her hand on Ruth Anne’s. “Of course you love him. And I have always believed that God chooses special people to raise special children. It isn’t what any parent expects, but every child is a blessing.”

Ruth Anne couldn’t catch her breath. “What . . . what . . . do we . . .” She raised her shoulders and dropped them slowly.

Dr. Calhoun handed her a box of Kleenex. “We need to run a series of tests. Babies with Down’s syndrome are at high risk for other medical conditions, and we need to rule those out.” He handed Ruth Anne a card. “Dr. Prescott said her initial exam of Joshua didn’t indicate anything that is urgent, and he is breathing well on his own. But I’d like to see him next week. You can call the number on the card. Ask for Kayla. She’ll be expecting your call and will make sure to fit you in.”

“I love him. I don’t care if he looks a little different.” Ruth Anne scanned the faces on the computer screen, and most of them were cute in their own way. “Look how adorable some of those children are. And we are simple people. Plain people. Our looks don’t rule our lives like—” She stopped herself before saying, “Like the Englisch.”

“Awe, sweetie. Of course you will love him no matter what. He is precious.” Dr. Prescott closed her computer and pushed it aside. “And I know you said you felt badly because you couldn’t get Joshua to latch on. That’s very common with Down’s babies. So don’t feel guilty about it, okay?”

Ruth Anne wished she could bring Joshua back to Dr. Prescott instead of the older man. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts, questions, and fears. She wasn’t sure what to ask, so she just nodded.

Levi had stopped crying, but he wouldn’t look at anyone. After a few moments, he stood up and looked back and forth between the two doctors. They all waited for him to say something. Looking out the window, Ruth Anne could see dark clouds rolling in and that it had begun to rain. She was glad her parents had hired a driver since Lancaster was a bit too far to go by buggy. Besides, she couldn’t have managed all the jostling of a buggy ride just yet, and August in Lancaster County was still too warm to be carting around a newborn.

On shaky legs, Ruth Anne stood up. As best she could, she thanked the doctors, then extended her arms so that Levi could hand her Joshua. She waited as her husband leaned down and kissed Joshua gently on the forehead. Then he handed their son to her and walked out of the room.

“He just needs time to process this information,” Dr. Calhoun said as thunder boomed in the background.

Dr. Prescott opened the drawer of her desk, then handed Ruth Anne another card. “This is a local support group. After Dr. Calhoun finishes testing and things settle down, you might want to call that number. Everyone in the group is raising at least one child with Down’s syndrome.”

Ruth Anne swallowed hard as she pulled Joshua closer to her. After a few moments, she eased him into the baby carrier, fearful of dropping him. Her legs were shaking, her lip trembling. “I have to go find Levi,” she said as she leaned down to grab the carrier.

“I’m going that way. Let me carry that for you. I doubt you need to be lifting anything so soon.” Dr. Calhoun lifted the carrier, and together they left the office and headed toward the exit. Ruth Anne still thought she might pass out. But she didn’t have that luxury. She had a baby to care for. In the distance, she saw Levi standing underneath the awning, staring out into the darkness of the storm, and she tried to picture a future that neither of them saw coming.

The story continues in In His Father's Arms by Beth Wiseman.