The Christmas Quilt: Quilts of Love Series (10 page)

11

T
he hospital gown felt foreign against Leah’s skin and skimpy—especially the back portion where there was a distinct draft! She was relieved when the nurse helped her into the bed and pulled the covers up over her. At least they’d allowed her to keep her prayer
kapp
on. Annie had helped her fasten it over her long blonde hair before the paramedics had arrived at their home. The braid and bun were a mess, but her head was covered. There would be time to re-comb it all later.

Worrying about such a thing might seem trivial to some people, but Leah had never been out in public with her hair uncovered. She had enough to think about right now without feeling self-conscious about her hair. It wasn’t so much that she feared it would be a sin. She was certain God would understand.

No, it was more a feeling she’d left much of her old life behind when she’d been lifted into the ambulance. The prayer covering was a small symbol of who she was and all she had embraced when she joined the church—it helped her retain her balance and identity. Silly, maybe, but at this moment she needed to keep as much of her old life as possible with her.

Nurse Gabriella was adjusting the second bag of IV fluid—the one with the medicine—and practically clucking like a mother hen when Adam walked in with the doctor.

“How are you feeling?” Worry marked Adam’s face like age lines on the old men who sat around watching the
kinner
play baseball. She marveled how the last twenty-four hours had brought them together, almost as close as when they were first married.

“Hot and a little nauseous.”

“The pains—”

“They’ve stopped, Adam. The medicines they’re giving to me, they are working very well.”

“That’s
gut
, then. We did the right thing to come.” He waited next to her bed, his hand touching her shoulder, and Leah was suddenly sure they’d done the right thing. She’d never been inside an
Englisch
hospital before, but it wasn’t so frightening with Adam standing by her side.

Doctor Kentlee had walked in with Adam, and he stood now at the end of her bed, studying her chart. It wasn’t written on paper the way Samuel kept records. Instead, her information seemed to be kept on some sort of computer board. There was no doubt it was her chart though, for his gaze moved from the monitors, to her, then back to the tablet.

Handing it to Nurse Gabriella, he looked directly at Leah. “The magnesium we are giving you is what stopped the contractions.”

“
Ya.
The nurse explained it to me. It makes me a little sick, but that is better than the pains.”

“Magnesium can also cause you to be flushed and even tired.” He was older and had no hair on top of his head. The light from the morning sun shone through the windows lining one side of the room. The sun’s rays made the top of his head somewhat shiny. It was difficult to be afraid of a man with a polished head. Plus, he had very kind blue eyes, covered by white bushy eyebrows and wrinkles spreading out from the sides.

“It will be
gut
to rest,” Leah agreed. “It was a long night.”

“I imagine it was.” Dr. Kentlee pointed to the fetal monitor she was wearing. “We’ll run the magnesium for forty-eight hours, and we’ll need to leave the monitor on while we do.”

Leah touched the blanket, which covered her gown, where it pooched out from the stretchy band and monitor placed around her stomach.

“Can’t say I ever wore a belt before,” she admitted, rubbing her stomach. “It will feel
gut
to take it off.”

“The monitor allows us to measure your babies’ heart rates continuously.” Dr. Kentlee held up what looked a little like Samuel’s stethoscope. “I’ll admit to being somewhat old-fashioned though. I still like to listen myself. Do you mind?”

Leah glanced at Adam, and they both shook their head no. They didn’t mind at all. This doctor had helped their babies, and what he’d instructed the paramedics to do had helped them.

Maybe he had saved their lives.

She moved her arm, the one with the IV in it, on top of the metal handrail.

“Belinda has one of those,” Leah said.

“A doppler?”

“
Ya.
”

“Belinda would be your midwife then.”

Leah nodded as Gabriella pulled down the blanket. Dr. Kentlee placed his doppler on the mound that was her stomach. Leah was used to this process—Belinda, Samuel, and even Annie had listened to the babies’ heartbeats before. They’d even encouraged her to listen, though mostly all she had heard was a swish-swish sound that reminded her of swimming in the creek.

Dr. Kentlee’s eyes went up and around and finally met hers. When they did, he smiled nicely and more of the tension in Leah’s shoulders melted away. She glanced up at Adam, but Adam was frowning at the doppler. He’d never cared much for medical procedures. Once he had admitted to her that he didn’t understand how Annie would choose such a thing to spend her
rumspringa
on—most of the things his sister did when helping patients made him nauseous.

“All right.” Dr. Kentlee pulled the instrument off his ears and settled onto the chair beside her bed.

Gabriella pulled up the blanket and tucked it around Leah, as if she were cold. She wasn’t cold, but it did help her feel more—well, more covered and she was grateful for that. She smiled her thanks.

“The heartbeats for both babies sound strong, but we’re not out of the woods
yet
.” His emphasis on the word
yet
set off warning bells.

“You mean the
bopplin
are still in danger?”

“Hard to say, Adam.”

Leah was surprised the doctor knew her husband’s name, but then they had walked in together. Perhaps they’d introduced themselves in the hall.

“But you’re the doctor.”

“A doctor, yes. A prophet, no.” The white eyebrows wiggled. “Leah experienced preterm labor—something fairly common with twins. It has slowed with her first few doses of magnesium sulfate, which I’d like to continue for at least forty-eight hours.”

“Two days isn’t so bad,” Adam muttered.

Leah knew he was worried about their being away from the farm. She didn’t like it either.

“I’m concerned there may be other things going on we’re not seeing here. Perhaps the early contractions were a warning sign. I’d like to run a few tests.”

“Why?” Adam asked, becoming more agitated.

Dr. Kentlee didn’t answer immediately. Instead he waited for quietness to settle around them. Then he asked Adam a question. “Do you work in the fields?”

“
Ya.
Some. I have a small place.”

“That’s good. Your children will be able to learn the old ways.”

Adam nodded.

Leah wondered how much this
Englisch
doctor knew about their way of life. No doubt, he did see many Amish patients at this hospital.

“And what do you grow?”

“Corn and hay.”

When the doctor only waited, Adam added, “The hay is a mixture of clover, alsike, alfalfa, and timothy.”

Dr. Kentlee grunted. “Good blend. If you noticed your corn, or your hay, was not producing as it should you wouldn’t immediately run out and apply more fertilizer . . .”

Adam didn’t speak, only shook his head.

“You’d check it out. Try to find out what was wrong.”

“Are you comparing me to hay?” Leah asked, her fear draining away as she tried to decide if she was offended.

“Hay is a blessing from the Lord,
fraa.
”

“I was using the farming metaphor so Adam would understand why we need to do a few tests.” Kentlee stood and patted her hand. “I’ll be back before your evening meal. We should know more by then.”

Adam had experienced slow afternoons before.

The day his father was in the hospital had stretched on endlessly, one wretched hour dragging past the next. He’d stayed home to look after the farm, and no one had a telephone then. So he’d waited for the bishop to hear from the
Englischer
who lived across the street, and then he drove his buggy out to tell him how things had gone. It had been a long day.

Then there had been the afternoon before his marriage to Leah. It had seemed to scuff along like an old workhorse, taking much longer to pass than was possible.

But this afternoon? He wasn’t the type of person to watch a clock, but the one on the wall in Leah’s room did nothing but frustrate him. Every time he glanced at it, the hands had barely crept another ten minutes forward.

At least the nurses had allowed Annie to join them in the room.

“Why aren’t you quilting?” Adam nodded toward the bag he’d seen her carry from the waiting room to Leah’s room. “Not enough material?”

Annie sighed. “Oh, I have plenty of fabric. I purchased the last of it when I was in town with Leah on Saturday.”

“Then why are you crocheting?”

Tugging on the ball of yarn one more time, Annie smiled. “Things often don’t work as we plan. Right? I put all my quilting supplies into my bag. Everything is measured and ready, but I neglected to wash and iron the fabric first.”

“Why would you need to wash new fabric?”

“There are several reasons—”

“It’s not dirty though. It’s
new
.”

“
Ya
, but sometimes with new fabric the colors will bleed. It’s best to wash them separately, before you sew them together.”

“Sounds like a lot of trouble for a blanket.”

“Oh, Adam. A quilt is much more than a blanket.”

“If you say so.”

Annie gave him a you-should-know-better look and continued working with the crochet needle and yellow yarn. She’d purchased both from the gift shop an hour ago. It looked to Adam like she was making a blanket, and probably a baby blanket at that, but then he didn’t know much about the wonders women did with yarn—only that one needle meant crocheting and two meant knitting.

Given the color—a soft yellow—Leah could assume Annie was making something for the babies they were waiting on, but playing it safe as far as a boy or a girl. The thought brought a smile to his face just as an orderly rolled Leah back into the room.

“All done with the test?” he asked.

“
Ya.
It was no problem.” She went on to describe the sonogram procedure to him, but it was beyond anything he could imagine. Amish families generally did not have pictures made of their babies, before or after they were born.

Belinda had suggested having one done when they’d first learned of the twins, but they had both declined. Since Leah seemed healthy it hadn’t been medically necessary, but now—well, now it apparently was.

“Is she back in her room for good?” he asked Gabriella.

“We’re all done,” she assured him. “My shift ends at three, but I’ll be in to check on you one more time before I go.”

Soon Leah was napping. He didn’t understand how she could sleep with that needle in her arm. The sight of it made him a little queasy. He’d finally given in and eaten the part of her lunch she didn’t want, but now he thought the half of club sandwich and tomato soup might be headed back up if he stared at the needle and long tube snaking into it much longer.

“Look away, Adam.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen that look on your face before. Remember the time you had to help me at the schoolhouse? I was giving flu shots and I needed someone to hold the children.”

“Don’t remind me.” Adam put his head between his knees, the way he’d done that day. Most of the children hadn’t minded the needle Annie had stuck into their shoulders, but Adam had gone outside and thrown up in the outhouse. He didn’t mind a shot when he had to have one—Samuel had given him one last year for tetanus. Watching while he did it though? That was not something he could do. Sharp objects shouldn’t go into your arm, and plastic tubes shouldn’t snake out. They certainly shouldn’t stay there like the one in Leah’s arm.

Better to think about the engines in his shop. Engines were made of metal. They didn’t pierce easily, and they didn’t bleed if you dropped them on the ground.

How was he going to be a father?

Infants were extremely small and helpless.

Who was he fooling? He’d probably faint away the first time he held one of the babies.

“Breathe deeper. You’re starting to look green.”

“How can you tell that? I have my head practically between my knees.”

“I’m a nurse. Remember? I’m trained to know the signs of someone who is about to hurl.” Annie put aside her crochet work, stood, and brought him a glass of ice water. “Drink this. It will help.”

“I doubt it.”

“Do what I say,
bruder
. This one time.”

Adam downed the small Styrofoam cup of water in one gulp. He did feel better. Standing, he walked around the room. It was too small to pace in, but at least he could look out the window. Seeing the half-inch of snow in the parking lot, covering the trees, helped to ease some of his anxiety. Nature marched on regardless of what was upsetting his little world.

“Where did Belinda go?”

“She had an appointment to check on one of her mothers-to-be.”