Christmas Cradles Page 4

  Lifting her head a few moments later, Anna kept a reassuring smile plastered on her face. The baby was Frank breech, and Sarah was right: time was growing short. She thought for a moment, knowing there was no way to get the mother and baby to the hospital in time.

  Just then the barn door slid open, letting in a blast of snow. A wide-eyed girl of about ten stood in her nightgown, oversized boots, and a shawl.

  “Was en der welt, Esther?” Mr. Raber exclaimed. “You will freeze, child!”

  “I had a nightmare, Daed. I called for you and Mamm . . . what’s wrong?”

  Sarah spoke to her husband in quick Pennsylvania Dutch from inside the buggy, and Mr. Raber went to gather up his daughter. “I will take her back and tuck her in.”

  Anna spoke in soothing tones to the laboring woman when he’d gone. “Sarah, your baby is breech. Do you understand what that means?”

  Sarah choked on a sob. “Jah, we will lose the child. My best friend’s baby was breech—she couldn’t make it to the hospital in time.”

  “Well, as the Lord wills, you are not going to lose this child.” Anna spoke with confidence. She rummaged in her bag and opened a sterilized kit containing a gown, mask, pads, and another pair of gloves. “I’ve delivered three breech babies in the last two years. It will be okay—you just listen and do what I tell you to, all right?”

  “All right,” Sarah gasped.

  Anna smiled, then called for Asa to come nearer the buggy.

  He came reluctantly, clearly feeling it was not his place.

  “Sarah, Asa Mast is here,” Anna said from behind her mask. “He drove me tonight. I may need his help if Mr. Raber doesn’t come back right away. We have to move fast.”

  “It’s—okay—just please help my baby.”

  “Asa,” Anna said in a low tone. “Sarah’s baby is breech. Put on a pair of gloves from my bag and find something warm . . . your coat . . . and get ready to take the baby when I hand it to you.”

  “Breech . . .” he said, meeting her eyes, and she couldn’t look long at the fear she saw there.

  “Derr Herr will not abandon us. Hurry.”

  “Jah,” he murmured, turning to do as she asked.

  Anna prayed as she began the delicate delivery, closing her eyes and visualizing the anatomy of mother and baby.

  “Everything’s fine, Sarah. Don’t push, not yet. Just breathe.” Please, Lord, help this baby’s head to not be too large. Please let it pass easily . . . help me, Lord, please . . .

  Sarah drew deep, wrenching breaths as Anna manipulated the small bottom and limbs, wishing she could give Sarah something for the pain. But she’d probably refuse it, and there was no time.

  Then everything began to move at once, and Anna took a deep breath when she felt the size of the baby’s head. “Okay, Sarah, just a little push . . .”

  Sarah pushed and Anna strained to put subtle pressure on the head. Within seconds, the squalls of a newborn baby girl echoed in the vastness of the barn, mixing with her mother’s sobs. Anna cut the cord, suctioned the breathing passages, wrapped the baby in sterilized pads, then turned to transfer the bloody, squalling scrap of humanity into Asa’s outstretched hands, which were covered by his grossmuder’s quilt.

  Anna met his brown eyes, finding them welled with tears. “To keep the girl warm,” he murmured, wrapping and cradling the baby in his strong arms.

  Anna swallowed hard and turned back to Sarah. “It’s a girl, Sarah. She looks great; I’ll check her over. Let me just see to you for a moment.”

  Sarah rested her head back against the buggy door, breathing soft prayers of thanksgiving as the barn door opened and Mr. Raber hurried to the buggy. Anna watched Asa hold out the bundle in his arms from the corner of her eye.

  “A girl,” Asa told him. “Congratulations, Daed.”

  “And Sarah?” Mr. Raber moved to look inside the buggy.

  “She did a wonderful job,” Anna said.

  “Gut,” Mr. Raber choked. “That’s good.”

  “She was breech, Ezekiel.” Sarah sniffed. “We could have lost her . . . but Derr Herr . . . he was with us.”

  “He is always with us, Sarah,” Ezekiel Raber whispered as he stared down at his new daughter. “He gives and takes away, but praise him for giving this night.”

  Sarah nodded, then stretched to pat Anna’s hand. “And you, and Asa Mast—we could not have done this without you both.”

  Anna smiled and finished with the usual post-delivery chores, pleased that Sarah did not bleed too much with the delivery of the placenta. She covered the new mother with her cloak, which had dried somewhat, then cleaned everything in sight. She turned to see Mr. Raber’s eyes filled with tears as he rocked from side to side with his new daughter.

  “Danki, Anna, and Asa too.”

  “What will you name her?” Anna asked after examining the baby again. She had drawn the birth certificate forms from her bag and watched from where she leaned against the top of a bale of hay.

  Mr. Raber rested against the buggy and stared with love at his wife. “What will it be?”

  Sarah Raber spoke. “That quilt she’s wrapped in—where did it come from?”

  Asa had turned his back to the buggy once more but came forward to answer. “It was my grossmuder’s. Please, I want you to keep it—for her hope chest maybe.” He nodded at the cherubic face, half revealed. Anna smiled.

  “What was your grossmuder’s name, Asa—I can’t seem to think straight.” Sarah laughed.

  “Rachel.”

  Sarah and her husband smiled, and Anna began to letter the birth certificate even before they spoke.

  “Then Rachel it shall be,” Sarah announced. “Rachel Anna Raber.”

  Anna looked up in surprise and felt a thrill of delight. She’d never had a namesake, and now she felt the page in front of her blur with the onset of tears and weariness, which she swiped away before they could smear the ink. “Time of birth . . . 2:20 a.m., Second Christmas. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” Asa humbly bent his head at the couple and Anna nodded. “Jah, thank you so much.”

  Chapter Three

  Asa helped Ezekiel Raber harness the horse to the buggy again as Anna made Sarah and the baby as warm and shielded as possible inside. The trip from the barn to the house was only twenty-five feet or so, but Anna wanted there to be no opportunity for either patient to take a chill. She also made Sarah lie on a makeshift stretcher, created from a wide, thin roll of plastic window insulation that Ezekiel had found and made more secure with two blankets he’d tramped back to the house to get. Ezekiel got up on the buggy seat to drive as Asa went to open the barn doors.

  Asa paused a moment, wanting there to be no mistakes now that everything had gone so well. “I’ll hold the horse’s head, Ezekiel, if you like. Just in case he balks.”

  “Gut idea. The storm is more than anything I’ve seen in years.”

  Asa caught the bridle with a soothing sound, glanced back for Anna’s nod to proceed, and opened the barn door. The wind whipped inside with wild abandon and the horse attempted to rear. Asa held firm, though he felt like his arms were going to be wrenched out of their sockets, and the horse seemed to relax when it realized that neither man panicked. Asa pushed through the thick, wet snow as tiny pieces of ice, like shards of glass, drove against his face and down the neck of his coat. He felt as if he were wading through freezing maple syrup when they finally got to the steps, and that was the easy part. They still had to get mother and daughter safely and painlessly inside.

  It hadn’t been easy, Asa reflected as he walked to the whistling kettle at the stove. He decided he never wanted to be responsible for transporting a new mother again, unless, his mind drifted with sleepy lassitude, it happened to be Anna. The thought jerked him wide-awake, and he moved the kettle with more force than he’d intended, sloshing the boiling water over the side of the cup. He put the back of his hand to his mouth and gave it an instinctive suck.

  “Here . . . don’t do that.” Anna sounded worried, and he felt himself flush as though she could read his thoughts. She rose to go to the Rabers’ icebox and brought him a clean towel with ice.

  “Let me see your hand.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Now, please.” She smiled sweetly but wearily at him.

  He sighed and extended his burned hand. She wrapped it in the ice-cold towel, and he watched her delicate fingers press here and there against his work-roughened hand as she secured the fabric. It made him feel hot behind his collar, and he could only nod when she told him to be still while she hurried to get antibiotic ointment from her bag. It was a blessing that Ezekiel, Sarah, and the baby were in the master bedroom, resting after the precarious trip out of the buggy and up the steps. The wind had almost tipped the stretcher, and Asa’s heart had ached at the involuntary moan of pain Sarah had emitted against the wind. They’d finally gotten her inside and into bed, and Anna continued to check between mother and daughter. Ezekiel had hastily shown Anna and Asa where to find the coffee and cookies and then had gone to be with his wife.

  Asa held the wet towel in place until Anna crossed back to him with her bag.

  “Seems like you must have everything but a church meeting going on in there,” he joked, trying to regain his equilibrium of thought.

  She nodded with an absent mmm-hmm. She was clearly in Doc mode. But he didn’t feel dismissed when she gently peeled back the towel and began to massage the clear ointment over his hand. In truth, more than the sudden sparks of sensation her touch sent down his spine, an expanding, ridiculous urge to cry rose up in his chest.

  He bent his head and wet his lips as a wash of images invaded his mind. He remembered how he’d wrenched his hand fixing the axle of the car he’d bought and hidden from his family when he was seventeen. It had been one of the first times he’d gone driving with Jennifer. He’d asked her for help as the blood had rushed from the deep laceration, but she’d glanced away, looking disgusted. So he’d wrapped his own hand, using his teeth and a rag, and had decided that such common things were beneath anyone so wonderful as Jennifer. He grimaced now at the irony of it all and forced himself back to the moment as he realized Anna had just spoken.

  “Uh, I’m sorry—what?”

  She’d turned his hand over, exposing his palm and the long, jagged scar. “I asked how you got this. It looks like you never got proper first aid.”

  He pulled away a bit and fisted his hand from her gaze. “I was young. It was something stupid.”

  “Well.” She gathered up her supplies. “The burn should heal well.”

  It will. Because of you.

  Ezekiel Raber had just carried the polished cradle into the master bedroom, then returned a few minutes later to refill their mugs. A sudden grinding sound and a flash of lights passed by the dark kitchen windows, illuminating the still-falling snow.

  “That’ll be Joe Grossinger, a gut Englisch friend of mine. He runs a plow for extra money during the winters and always does our drive for free. He’ll only accept a cup of coffee to warm him up,” Ezekiel explained.

  Anna rose to her feet in obvious excitement. “Is that a dump truck he’s driving?”

  Ezekiel nodded. “Jah, with a plow on front, and he drops cinders or gravel from the back. Why?”

  “Jah, why?” Asa asked Anna, who swallowed under his alert gaze.

  In hindsight, perhaps she should have told him straight off about the three possible labors, but she hadn’t thought the storm would be so bad. And in her experience men could usually only handle one labor a night, though Asa had already proved her wrong.

  When she didn’t respond, Ezekiel lit another lantern and went to the front door. She clasped her hands in front of her and looked at Asa.

  “Well, it’s just that . . . Aenti Ruth told me that there could be one more delivery tonight, and I thought . . .”

  He raised his dark brows and half groaned. “Another delivery? Is all of Paradise due to deliver tonight? And when exactly do you sleep, Anna?”

  “I . . . don’t . . . at least, not a lot. Look, you don’t have to go with me. I can ask Mr. Grossinger if he will take me and then I’ll . . .”

  He straightened up in his chair. “Do you think I’m letting you go off with some stranger—an Englischer—in the middle of the night?”

  “Well, you were a stranger too . . .” She trailed off, thinking she felt as if she’d known him so much longer than just a few hours.

  He must have caught the look in her eye because he leaned forward and searched her face. “And am I still a stranger, Anna?”

  She caught her breath at his words, amazed that they shared the same thought. She shook her head as she returned his gaze. “Nee, you are no stranger.”

  She might have gone on if Ezekiel hadn’t led a tall, lanky Englisch man into the room.

  “Joe, this is Anna and Asa . . . they helped Sarah give birth a couple of hours ago. A little girl this time!” Ezekiel beamed.

  “Well, shoot!” Joe exclaimed, whipping off his ball cap to reveal an unruly crop of dark curls. “That makes five, don’t it, Zeke? I’ve got to say that I envy you and the missus.” He gave Ezekiel a back-slapping hug that was returned enthusiastically, then he stretched big, dirt-stained hands to shake with Anna and Asa. Anna found herself enjoying the open personality of the Englischer, who had just plopped himself down at the kitchen table and accepted his mug of coffee as if he’d been there many times.

  “How’s the storm looking?” Ezekiel asked. “Anna wants me to take both Sarah and the baby into town tomorrow for a checkup at the hospital.”

  Joe laughed. “I’m about as lonesome out there as Santy Claus, and him a day late. It’s bad. But I’ll be glad to come back out and get you folks tomorrow morning when it slows down a bit.”

  Ezekiel smiled. “I think it’ll be all right.”

  Asa cleared his throat. “Well, actually, Ezekiel, Joe . . . uh . . . Anna’s got to check on one more woman who could deliver this morning. We were thinking of asking maybe to keep the buggy here and to see if Joe might drive us to—” He glanced at Anna, who had a slight smile on her face.

  “The Stolises’,” she supplied. “Mary Stolis.”

  Asa and Ezekiel groaned aloud in perfect unison.

  “What?” Anna and Joe asked at the same time.

  Asa sighed. “Mary and Luke Stolis are a nice couple. Everyone in the community mourned when she lost the last baby. The Stolises run a big woodworking shop out of their house and outbuildings. A lot of brothers, sisters—”

  “So?” Anna queried.

  “It’s Luke’s mother, Grossmuder Stolis, who runs the house and kind of makes things difficult for people. She’s . . . older, lost her husband, and she’s kind of stern.”

  “Mean,” Ezekiel clarified.

  “Got a few relatives like that myself,” Joe commented with a chuckle.

  “Well, I’ve dealt with plenty of strong-willed older folks up at Pine Creek,” Anna said, shrugging her shoulders. “She can’t be that bad.”

  Again, Asa and Ezekiel looked rather like they’d both eaten a bad pickle.

  “Well, I’d sure enough be glad to get you there,” Joe offered. “I know where that big woodworking outfit is, though I can’t promise the lane might not be drifted over.”

  “Oh, we’d be so grateful.” Anna clapped her hands.

  Joe drained his cup. “All righty then. Let’s get to it. Zeke, tell Sarah congratulations and I’ll swing by again to check on you all when it lightens up.”

  Anna went to examine Sarah and the baby once more, then pulled on her boots and cape and grabbed her bag. She felt a renewed energy, though she could tell that Asa was dragging a bit as he adjusted his hat and gloves.

  “Be careful. And danki again.” Ezekiel shook Asa’s and Joe’s hands and patted Anna’s shoulder, then opened the door to the frigid air once more.

  Chapter Four

  Anna had never ridden in a dump truck or any kind of truck for that matter, and she was delighted by the new experience. Joe had left the engine running, and he climbed into the driver’s seat while Asa led Anna to the passenger door and then boosted her up to the high seat inside.

  She breathed in the heavy scent of the heat that blew from the truck’s vents, feeling drowsiness seep into her with the warmth. Then she’d had to crawl over empty plastic water bottles, potato chip wrappers, and an assortment of tools to get to the middle of the seat.

  Joe stuffed as many of the oddities as he could behind the seat as Anna got situated. Asa climbed in beside her, and she found herself squashed between the two men with her bag situated on her lap. Joe turned a knob and the blaring sound of Christmas music faded.

  “Sorry for the mess.”

  “No problem.” Asa laughed. “You should see the back of my buggy sometimes.”

  Anna watched as Joe backed the truck down the lane, a loud beeping sound accompanying the movement. She had to press against the seat as he swung the huge steering wheel, his bony elbows protruding here and there. Then he backed onto the lane and began a slow pace across the treacherous piles of icy snow.

  “Did you have a good Christmas, Joe?” Anna asked.

  “As good as can be. I went to church—I know you folks are big on that. Then I had dinner at my momma’s and watched some TV.”

  How lonely, Anna thought as she considered all of the family she had.

  “Oh,” she murmured.

  Joe sighed. “I used to have a wife but she run off. Took the kids with her. It’s not been the same since.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Anna said.

  “Ah, it’s not so bad. I do have a girlfriend now, but I’m kind of takin’ it slow like. I don’t want to make another mistake like before. You know what I mean?”

  Asa cleared his throat. “Jah, you are a wise man to be cautious—and a good man, to help Ezekiel and us too.”

  Anna considered Asa’s use of the word cautious, but Joe had resumed talking.

  “I like your kind, the Amish. You seem—real to me. That matters.”