14

Adam stood in Samuel’s barn, gripping the cell phone so tightly he feared he might break it. The phone on the other end, the phone in Leah’s hospital room, rang once, twice, and a third time. When he was sure no one would answer it, someone picked up the receiver. Then there was a shuffling sound as if one person were passing it to another.

Finally, his wife’s voice travelled over the line.

“Hello?”

“Leah? Oh, Leah. I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Did you call the wrong number?” she teased, and then he knew it was Leah and she was better, much better than she’d been in a long time.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I called the past. It sounds as if my fraa from a year ago is speaking with me.”

There was silence on the line, and he wondered if he’d said something wrong. He’d been in the habit of doing so. Perhaps he’d done it again.

“I rather feel like my old self again, Adam, except for my stomach. It’s still as big as ever.”

“Gut.” He closed his eyes, breathed a prayer of such gratitude his heart actually hurt, and sat back on the wooden crate outside Samuel’s horse stalls. “I called last night, but Annie answered. Tonight I hoped and prayed it would be you—”

His words fell away.

How could he explain the way each day had dragged on as he worked in the barn at their home, as he worked on the engines and with the animals? How could he describe how empty their house was without her there?

“I woke up this morning and thought I was still in Lewistown,” she admitted.

Adam switched the phone to his left hand and swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead. The memory of those final hours in Lewistown was enough to make him feel queasy again. “It was terrible, Leah. And I was no use to you at all. I passed out on the floor. Two orderlies had to use the smelling salts on me while the doctors and nurses were working on you.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Nein. But what kind of husband am I?” The doubts circling in his mind for four days rushed out. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t bother her with them, but this was his old Leah—the one he shared everything with. This was his friend. “I should have been on my feet helping.”

“I remember there was a lot of blood, Adam.” He heard a rustling sound as she adjusted the phone and said something to his sister. “Ya, and Annie just reminded me again, I needed a blood transfusion. Many people would have passed out seeing such a thing.”

“Maybe. I wish I could have been stronger.”

“He is our strength. Remember? You’re the one who found that verse for me, when I was first so miserable with the morning sickness.”

Some of the tightness in Adam’s chest eased. He had spent hours studying his Bible, searching the Word to ease Leah’s suffering. And she had remembered. Perhaps he wasn’t such a terrible husband after all. “The Lord God is my strength.”

“He will set my feet like the deer,” she whispered.

“He will let me walk upon the heights.” They finished the passage together.

There was a silence on the line, and this time it was as if they were in the same room. He could picture her there in the odd hospital gown, with her kapp fixed on her head. Annie would have seen to that. He could see her holding the phone, eyes closed, whispering the words with him.

“Now tell me about the engines. Did you finish the big one? The one that gave you so much trouble?”

So he did tell her. He talked about the ones he’d finished and the new ones that had come in. He didn’t worry at all about how many minutes they used. Samuel had assured him that it was all the same, the bill didn’t change according to time spent on the phone. His heart told him he and Leah needed these moments together. It reminded him of the times they used to spend the evening hours together sitting on the porch. When it was colder, they’d sit by the fire after the meal. He would read The Budget and she’d work on some piece of sewing.

Why had they ever stopped?

He couldn’t remember, but he vowed to himself when she returned home, he’d do better. When she returned with their bopplin, he would not allow the distance to creep into their marriage again.

“You’re quiet suddenly. What are you thinking about?” Leah asked.

“About how much I miss you. How glad I’ll be when you’re home and we’re together again, the way we were—the way we should be.” His voice had grown stronger. Somehow he had grown stronger during their talk. Leah did that for him. She made him the man he could be—the man he should be.

“I know. This hospital—it is gut, and I like my doctors very much. I’ll be glad to be home though. I miss the farm, and I miss you. Adam, I understand it’s a sin to worry, and I’m trying not to. I want to ask though—”

“Ask anything.”

“How will we pay for all of this?”

Adam stood and began pacing. He was grateful the phone was wireless so he wasn’t confined. “The auction is already scheduled. It’s to be next Saturday.”

“So soon?”

“It’s perfect, Leah. The area is always busy on Thanksgiving weekend, busy with tourists. I wish you could see . . .” he stopped and his throat tightened as he scanned the items in the barn. It was quite full already. “I wish you could see all that folks have brought. Samuel’s barn, there’s barely room for the horses, and there’s more items to come. The bishop says not to worry. The auction will raise plenty, and our medical fund already had a good balance.”

“I wish we didn’t have to—”

Adam stopped her. “It is difficult to accept help from others. I know, but this is our way. Samuel, your father, and Bishop Levi have met with me twice. To pray and to answer any questions about how this works. At first, I was hesitant as well. But think of all the times we have helped others. Also, it is biblical for all of the community to minister to our children—and to us—in our time of need.”

There was a long silence. He wondered if she was crying. He wished he could be there, to hold her in his arms. Phones were useful to a point, good for an emergency, but they would never replace being physically present for the one you love.

“You are right. I wish I could be there, and please . . . please thank them for me.”

“You can thank them yourself, when you come home with the bopplin.”

“The doctors say two more weeks and our children will be born.”

“And I will be there. Focus on being stronger, tell the babies I love them, and I will see all of you very soon.”

He was about to disconnect the small phone when Leah stopped him, and told him that the doctor knew the sexes of the babies. Did he want to know?

Did he?

“Do you, Leah?”

“It’s as if I know them already, carrying them inside me all this time. And it seems unnatural to find out beforehand from some fancy medical test. It doesn’t seem our way. Do I sound silly?”

“Not at all. Tell the doctor we will wait. Besides, Belinda has already told us what they are—I’ll take her word.”

His wife’s laughter followed him out of the barn and into the cold. He climbed the steps to Samuel’s house and updated him on Leah’s condition. Where previously he would have hurried home, he accepted the cup of kaffi. They discussed the plans for the following week, and they prayed together over his family. He’d always liked Samuel, but he’d never felt as close to the older man as he did in the last week. Not only did Samuel understand what he was going through, but he’d shown no resentment about Annie staying at Mercy Hospital with Leah. Adam understood what a sacrifice Samuel was making—how much he must miss her and even what extra work it was for him around their home. But Samuel never mentioned it. When Adam brought it up, he’d slapped him on the back and made a joke about how they both would lose weight if it weren’t for their sisters’ cooking they brought by regularly.

It was dark by the time Adam turned his buggy toward home, but he barely noticed it or the cold. Instead, he remembered the laughter in Leah’s voice. He was surrounded by it and the warmth of his family—all of his family.

As he turned down his lane, his thoughts returned to Leah’s question, about whether he wanted to know if the babies were girls or boys. Belinda had told them the last time she’d examined Leah, before that terrible night on the bathroom floor, that both were boys. At the time, he’d practically rolled his eyes. Since, he’d grown closer to their midwife—not just from travelling with her to Lewiston and then on the long drive to and from Philadelphia. He’d grown closer because they’d passed through the shadow of fear, if not death, together.

Somehow, if Belinda said the children were boys, then he believed her. She’d also winked and said she was right 75 percent of the time. Pretty good odds.

She would drive him to the hospital again, when the babies were scheduled to be born, or sooner if God willed it. He no longer dreaded the long ride. Belinda wouldn’t be able to assist in this birth, and it was not what he would have chosen, but he was slowly accepting that God had reasons for every turn their life took.

He prayed each night the doctors who were involved would treat his wife and children like the precious gifts they were. As for Belinda, he hoped they would need her help again, a few years down the road.

It was a marvel he could now think of the future. Just a few weeks ago the present had seemed so dark. But trouble had done that for him. It had given him a perspective on time. This would pass, and their life would resume its normal rhythm. Until it did, they would depend on their friends, family, and faith to see them through.