The Christmas Quilt (Quilts of Love Series) Read online

  “He calls every night. He goes to our house and uses Samuel’s phone.”

  Tears threatened to spill again, but Leah blinked them back. It was time to be strong, for both her husband and her children. Her mind and heart were flooded with memories of Adam holding her on their bathroom floor, his arms around her, his heartbeat against her skin. She knew how much he cared for her, and she wouldn’t doubt him again.

  “So I’ll stay here until it’s time?”

  “Yes. The doctors—you have two—hope to postpone the birth two more weeks, until at least December 7th.”

  Leah closed her eyes. Two more weeks? Without Adam? Here in the middle of Philadelphia? She wanted to shout or cry or throw something.

  Instead, she pulled in two deep, steadying breaths. When she opened her eyes, Annie was studying her, waiting.

  “We’re both going to need something to help us pass the hours. It’s a gut thing you brought that quilt. The fabric isn’t as stiff, as if it’s been washed.”

  “My landlady did that for me.”

  “Landlady?” Perhaps this was all a dream. Maybe she’d wake up in a little while and be back on the bathroom floor, Adam behind her, waiting for Annie and Samuel to arrive.

  Annie retrieved the quilting bag and settled in the chair next to the bed, adjusting the blinds again so even more light spilled across the floor. Leah noticed more details now, like the cozy feel of the room. The walls were a warm rose color, and there were two shelves across from her bed—she supposed for flowers. Englischers were big on purchasing what grew freely in the fields. This was something she and Adam had laughed over when they’d passed the small florist in town. Since there were no flowers on her shelves, someone had placed a small ceramic jar painted blue with yellow daisies. It brightened up the place and helped Leah think of summer.

  Above the second shelf hung a small decorative cross. It was wooden, simple, and seemed to be made of maple. Whoever made it had shellacked it so that the grains of the wood shone. Leah couldn’t help thinking of Annie’s Onkel Eli—he would appreciate the workmanship by whoever had made the symbol of their faith. Though Amish didn’t normally decorate with crosses, somehow this one brought her a sense of peace.

  “Family aren’t allowed to spend the night,” Annie was explaining. “It was Samuel’s idea for me to contact my old landlady, the one I lived with when I was working here. She happened to have a room open—a small one with two twin beds, so I took it.”

  “And you’re walking back and forth?” Leah glanced out the window. Though the sun was shining, it was nearly Thanksgiving. Surely the temperature was cold.

  “It isn’t far—a few blocks. I walked when I lived here before. Actually I enjoy the stroll.”

  Leah watched her as Annie ran her fingers around the Sunbonnet Sue dress. “So your landlady washed and ironed the fabric? I know you and your quilting ways. You always do both first.”

  Annie nodded in agreement. “Yes, she did. Vickie asked if there was anything she could do for you, and I admitted I’d like to be working on your quilt—”

  “Sounds like quite the landlady.”

  “Indeed she is.”

  But there was no more quilting that morning. One of the nurses came in—and yes, it brought a smile to Leah’s face to see her. She wore the same long conservative dress and the same nurse’s cap that Annie had worn that first evening so long ago, when she’d come home to care for Jacob.

  She peeked at Annie, and knew that she was remembering the same thing. Then they were both grinning.

  As the nurse went about charting Leah’s status and per-forming her various duties, Annie explained what they found so amusing. After all, Samuel’s confusion over Annie’s clothing had been the beginning of their relationship—a relationship which resulted in their marriage and the child she was carrying.

  “I remember hearing about you,” Nurse Penny admitted. She was taller than Annie and bigger—not in a soft way, but strong. Leah had no doubt she could handle whatever needed doing. Her skin was very white with freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her hair was short and bright red. “Mercy Hospital was famous for a while when Annie worked here. We became quite the talk because we had an Amish nurse.”

  “We still have one,” Leah piped up.

  “I suppose you do.” Penny cocked her head. “I’ve been nursing ten years, and if I walked away from my job today, I’d still be a nurse, now wouldn’t I?”

  Leah and Annie both nodded.

  “But I won’t be walking away, Miss Leah. We’re going to see these babies through to the day of their birth when you and your husband will hold them in your arms.” She adjusted the bed so that Leah was more comfortable. “Now I’ll send someone to help you with your shower in about an hour. You rest up until then.”

  After she’d left the room, Leah turned to Annie. “You were right—this is the best place for me to be.”

  “Ya. They’re gut here. You can see why I accepted a job when they offered one. I felt comfortable working with the staff. It’s as if they’ve kept some of the old ways, with their manner of dress and the simple furnishings—”

  “Also, the way they treat people.”

  “Yes. That, too. But they have the newest technology, medically speaking. I’m glad Dr. Kentlee agreed to transfer you to Mercy.”

  Leah studied her sister-in-law. “Do you ever miss it? You spent a lot of time studying, working to earn your nursing certification. I know how much it means to you to be able to help others.”

  “I still help others as Gotte sees fit.”

  “True . . .”

  “I don’t miss the city.” Annie turned and stared out the window. “It always crowded in around me. I endured it so I could learn the things I wanted to know. The hospital—this place was like a sanctuary, and I’ll admit I do miss it at times. I miss the people and the children, of course.”

  Leah nodded.

  “But I no longer question my decision. Gotte asks us to make sacrifices at different times in our life. Mine was small. To give up a job so that I can work alongside Samuel and help those in our community and have a family of my own? I surrendered one dream for something better than I could have ever imagined.”

  13

  Leah didn’t actually start quilting that afternoon. She rested, had her shower, and ate her lunch. She was surprised to find she did have an appetite.

  When the doctors came in, she actually understood what they said, thanks to the fact that Annie had already explained so much of what was happening.

  The first surprise was Dr. Reese, who was tall, thin, and beautiful. She had dark black hair cut shoulder length and her eyes were a dark brown that seemed to catch everything.

  “I’ll deliver your babies, Leah.” Dr. Reese didn’t bother sitting. She seemed to have a lot of energy, as if even standing still in one place was hard for her.

  “You’ve delivered twins before?”

  Dr. Reese shared a smile with Annie.

  “A few.”

  “Dr. Reese specializes in multiple births,” Annie explained.

  “Oh.” Leah glanced from her new doctor to her sister-in-law. “Twins and triplets.”

  “We have our share of quads here as well. Higher than that is rare.” Dr. Reese went on to explain that the babies’ weight should steadily increase over the next two weeks. She knew the sex and asked if Leah wanted to know.

  “Nein. I don’t think so. At least not until I speak with my husband.”

  “That’s fine.” Dr. Reese smiled. “Many couples would rather be surprised. I’ll be in to check on you each day, and the nurses will page me should anything unusual pop up.”

  The babies also had their own doctor.

  He couldn’t have been more different from Dr. Reese. Shorter, he was built rather like one of David’s bulls. His skin was as dark as night, but when he smiled, which he did as soon as Leah glanced up, it lit his entire face. His hair was a fuzzy white, and his hands were quite large.
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br />   “How are my babies?” he asked.

  She’d expected his voice to be booming, but it wasn’t. In fact, when he spoke it reminded her of molasses pouring over pancakes.

  “Leah, this is Doctor Kamal. He’s a neonatal specialist.”

  Kamal took her hand in his, and she was surprised that it was as soft as his voice. “She means I work with the very small ones.”

  Dr. Kamal had an unusual accent, rising and falling like the song of one of the night birds she would sometimes listen to as she sat out in the rocker on the porch back home.

  “These small ones, they are precious, yes?”

  Leah nodded.

  “So we handle them with special care. We try to wait, which is why you are here, under the care of the esteemed Dr. Reese.” Again the smile, revealing the row of perfect white teeth.

  “When they are ready though . . .” Kamal glanced at the cross, then at Annie, and finally at Leah. He moved down the bed, waiting for her to nod her permission. Annie pulled down the cover and sheet. He put both of his hands on her, and she was surprised to see that together they completely covered her huge stomach. “When they are ready, we will work together and bring them into this world—you and I, with the help of the Maker who knows all things.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Leah wasn’t surprised at all when the babies moved, ever so slightly. Who wouldn’t respond to such kindness? Dr. Kamal smiled, then pulled up the blankets.

  “What questions do you have for me?”

  She did have questions, and was relieved to find that she felt comfortable enough with the good doctor to ask them. So they talked for another ten minutes.

  When he left, she lay back and closed her eyes, and Annie resumed her quilting. She hadn’t made much progress since Leah had first awakened that morning. Peeking through one eye, Leah saw her pull out the Sunbonnet Sue, pink fabric on top of rose.

  Leah closed her eyes, but occasionally she’d steal a glance and watch Annie as she stitched around the Dutch doll—or was it Amish? In her mind it had always been Amish, though the tourists who bought the finished quilts in the shops often referred to them as the Dutch doll quilts.

  Soon the nurse would be back to take care of her afternoon monitoring, and then it would be time for dinner. She was glad the day had passed quickly. She was anxious to speak with Adam.

  But for now it felt good to sit in what remained of the afternoon sun and watch Annie sew.

  “Tell me a story.”

  “Say again.” Annie’s needle paused in mid-stitch.

  “You’ve read dozens, probably hundreds, of books. I can’t possibly sleep anymore. Tell me a story.”

  Annie dropped the quilt square in her lap, traced the black bonnet with her finger, and glanced sideways at Leah.

  “What are you thinking of?”

  “A story I’m not sure you’ll want to hear.”

  “Oh, I want to hear it. I can tell by the way your eyebrows went up then down.” Leah struggled to sit up straighter. “Go on. You can keep sewing while you talk.”

  Annie laughed, and the sound did more to confirm to Leah’s heart all would be fine than the assurances of a dozen doctors.

  “I was thinking about when I first came here to Mercy Hospital, about the first time I started an IV on a small child.”

  Leah stared down at the line snaking into her arm.

  Annie waited for Leah to meet her gaze and nod, then she resumed her sewing and her voice took on the tone of a storyteller. Leah had heard her before, after Sunday church with the children in the barn or by the creek. She let Annie’s words flow over her—allowed the images to seep into her heart.

  Bethany was not quite four years old. She came in presenting with a high fever and listlessness and I was working in the emergency room that morning, though it wasn’t my regular rotation. I’d been asked to fill in for a nurse who was out sick. The child could barely raise her head. I’d been around sick children before—back home I’d taken care of Adam, Charity, and Reba when they were ill, but I’d never seen anything close to Bethany.

  Her eyes were hollow, sunken actually, and her cheeks sported two bright red spots.

  The mother was beside herself. I don’t even remember her name now. Bethany, though, is one child I’ll remember if I live to be ninety. She couldn’t lift her arm, didn’t even flinch when I had to stick her twice to start the IV, but she raised her brown eyes and stared into mine and I thought . . . I thought I’d been caressed by something very special.

  We never did hear her cry. When she started receiving fluids, she did sleep a little. The fever raged on and on. They transferred her upstairs to pediatrics, which was my floor, so I was able to continue to see her. I would go in after my shift and wipe her down with cool rags. They’d instantly warm when they touched her skin, and always her brown eyes would stare into mine.

  This went on for three days. I heard the other nurses talking about how hopeless it was, how the doctors had determined it was some bacterial infection and the antibiotics weren’t working. I saw the father twice. He was a broken hulk of a man who would walk into the room, stare at his daughter, and then creep back to the hall. The mother though? She was like a tall tree standing in the forest. As if the fire was raging around her, but she refused to give in to it.

  On the fourth day, I checked in early for my shift. Shelly, our supervisor, warned me that Bethany wasn’t expected to make it through the day. I went into her room, and Bethany’s mother was there beside her bed, kneeling on the cold linoleum and praying. It must have been a trick of the morning light, something to do with the blinds, but it seemed there was a ray of sunshine coming in and shining on Bethany, shining on the mother.

  Bethany was sitting up in the bed and had one hand touching her mother’s head. With the other hand she was sucking on her two fingers. It was the first time I saw her smile. Two days later she went home with her parents.

  They never decided—conclusively—what was wrong with her.

  Some of the things I read in the papers, they are terrible indeed. Even situations I see within our community, when I go on calls with Belinda or Samuel—it’s not always pleasant or right or good. But when my heart is hurting, when I wake in the middle of the night and have trouble wondering why this world is as it is, my mind always returns to that morning. I remember the image of the mother, kneeling by her child’s bed and the child with her hand blessing her mother and the light coming through the dirt-smeared window.

  I wonder what healed the child.

  Perhaps it had been the medicine.

  Maybe the mother’s love for Bethany had saved her.

  Possibly Bethany’s love for her parents had strengthened her.

  Annie snipped the thread and held up the pink and rose Sunbonnet Sue. “What do you think?”

  “That’s it? What do I think of your quilting?”

  Annie turned it back toward her with a frown. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “With the quilting, nein. With the storytelling, possibly.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I’d have more of her story, please. You always were a tease, Annie. Always leaving your listeners wanting more.”

  “Stories are that way though. They involve you in another’s life, but our road only intersects theirs for a time.”

  “And you didn’t see Bethany again?”

  “I didn’t.” Annie helped Leah sit forward, plumped the pillows behind her, and rubbed the muscles in her neck and along her back.

  She hadn’t realized those muscles were stiff from sitting in the bed until Annie began massaging them. Was that another thing she learned in nursing school? Wherever she’d learned it, Leah offered up a prayer of thanksgiving she had. Perhaps she’d take another lap around the hospital corridor after her dinner came. Though it was cumbersome dragging along the IV pole, she’d found time out of the bed raised her spirits and helped the aches and pains brought on from too much sitting.

  Annie would
need to go before darkness fell outside. She was about to ask if they had time to attempt a stroll, which reminded her she needed to thank her sister-in-law for all she was doing, when the phone rang for the first time that day. They both knew who it was.

  Annie once more adjusted the pillows, resettled Leah back against the bed, and then reached for the receiver.

  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.”