Read Online The Amish Midwife by Mindy Starns Clark, Leslie Gould - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mindy Starns Clark, Leslie Gould
Tags: Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, Romance, Christian fiction, Religious, Christian, Family secrets, Amish, Lancaster County (Pa.), Midwives, Adopted children, Adopted Children - Family Relationships
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doing. When I reached my apartment, I switched on the living room lamp and stopped at the window. James stood on the sidewalk, just as he always did, waiting to make sure I was safe. Our eyes locked and held for a long moment, and then he walked away.
A coldness welled up inside of me. I turned on all the lights and my stereo. What was I hoping for? I shivered as I sank down onto my white couch. I wanted to
know
why they gave me up. And I hoped, once theygot a good look at me, that they would be sorry they did. But I couldn’t tell James that. I could barely tell myself. My cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket, hoping it wasn’t work. I was shocked to register that I wanted it to be James. I hadn’t felt this with other guys when I’d said I needed “a break.”
It wasn’t work or James. It was Sophie.
“I talked with Marta directly,” she said, without saying as much as hello. “And it’s worse than I was led to believe. She’s being investigated for manslaughter.”
“Yikes.” I’d need to rethink going to help her. This was serious.
“Two counts. Mother and baby. And the partner in her practice retired to Kentucky right before this happened and can’t come back because of health problems.”
“Oh no.”
“But it won’t be any of your concern after all.” Sophie paused.
I grabbed a couch pillow and held it against my chest, trying to follow what she was saying.
“She doesn’t want you to come. She wouldn’t tell me why. Just that some family matters are better left alone. She said to tell you thanks but no thanks. That was all.”
S IX
A fter that conversation I left for Pennsylvania as soon as I could. I zipped down to Aurora and finished a few last-minute tasks at Dad’s, and then I draped sheets over all his furniture. It seemed like the thing to do when closing up a house. I’d already hired a caretaker for the orchard, a man in the community who was working for another orchardist. He assured me he would spray for eastern filbert blight in a week or two and continue to prune the trees as he had time. Soon he would need to groom and level the ground, preparing it for harvest. He came highly recommended, and I trusted he would follow through with caring for the orchard.
I constantly thought about what I should do with the house and property and decided to at least gather information. A place with a thirty-acre orchard and another ninety acres in farmland had sold the year before at a good price, but I only had forty acres.
The Realtor, Darci, seemed to appreciate the house, which had been built in 1911. It was a simple structure with three bedrooms and one bath, but all of the old-growth woodwork was original and in good condition, as was the banister along the stairs. She said new window coverings and paint would help but weren’t necessary. She didn’t say anything about the kitchen, which needed to be redone, but the right buyers could do itthemselves. She did notice where the foundation was crumbling and said that would probably be a costly and necessary fix.
I told her I was just gathering information, that I wanted to know how much the property was worth and then I would decide about putting it on the market.
She’d already run some comps and quoted me a price. It was less than what I had anticipated, but Dad’s mortgage had long been paid off, and all I had to worry about were taxes. If all went well, the hazelnut crop was usually good, although there were certainly years when it hadn’t been thanks to freak storms, droughts, blights, and the other everyday threats farmers have to deal with. The sale of the hazelnuts would more than cover the costs of maintaining the place, so I didn’t have to be in a rush.
I told her I would think about it and maybe get back to her in a month or two, but probably not until I returned in the fall. She made sure she had my cell number, and I took her card.
I walked through the orchard then, one last time. The loamy scent of
A coldness welled up inside of me. I turned on all the lights and my stereo. What was I hoping for? I shivered as I sank down onto my white couch. I wanted to
know
why they gave me up. And I hoped, once theygot a good look at me, that they would be sorry they did. But I couldn’t tell James that. I could barely tell myself. My cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket, hoping it wasn’t work. I was shocked to register that I wanted it to be James. I hadn’t felt this with other guys when I’d said I needed “a break.”
It wasn’t work or James. It was Sophie.
“I talked with Marta directly,” she said, without saying as much as hello. “And it’s worse than I was led to believe. She’s being investigated for manslaughter.”
“Yikes.” I’d need to rethink going to help her. This was serious.
“Two counts. Mother and baby. And the partner in her practice retired to Kentucky right before this happened and can’t come back because of health problems.”
“Oh no.”
“But it won’t be any of your concern after all.” Sophie paused.
I grabbed a couch pillow and held it against my chest, trying to follow what she was saying.
“She doesn’t want you to come. She wouldn’t tell me why. Just that some family matters are better left alone. She said to tell you thanks but no thanks. That was all.”
S IX
A fter that conversation I left for Pennsylvania as soon as I could. I zipped down to Aurora and finished a few last-minute tasks at Dad’s, and then I draped sheets over all his furniture. It seemed like the thing to do when closing up a house. I’d already hired a caretaker for the orchard, a man in the community who was working for another orchardist. He assured me he would spray for eastern filbert blight in a week or two and continue to prune the trees as he had time. Soon he would need to groom and level the ground, preparing it for harvest. He came highly recommended, and I trusted he would follow through with caring for the orchard.
I constantly thought about what I should do with the house and property and decided to at least gather information. A place with a thirty-acre orchard and another ninety acres in farmland had sold the year before at a good price, but I only had forty acres.
The Realtor, Darci, seemed to appreciate the house, which had been built in 1911. It was a simple structure with three bedrooms and one bath, but all of the old-growth woodwork was original and in good condition, as was the banister along the stairs. She said new window coverings and paint would help but weren’t necessary. She didn’t say anything about the kitchen, which needed to be redone, but the right buyers could do itthemselves. She did notice where the foundation was crumbling and said that would probably be a costly and necessary fix.
I told her I was just gathering information, that I wanted to know how much the property was worth and then I would decide about putting it on the market.
She’d already run some comps and quoted me a price. It was less than what I had anticipated, but Dad’s mortgage had long been paid off, and all I had to worry about were taxes. If all went well, the hazelnut crop was usually good, although there were certainly years when it hadn’t been thanks to freak storms, droughts, blights, and the other everyday threats farmers have to deal with. The sale of the hazelnuts would more than cover the costs of maintaining the place, so I didn’t have to be in a rush.
I told her I would think about it and maybe get back to her in a month or two, but probably not until I returned in the fall. She made sure she had my cell number, and I took her card.
I walked through the orchard then, one last time. The loamy scent of
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