Beneath the Apple Leaves(39)

Gerda turned to Eveline, her eyes no longer jovial. “They’re light.” She shook her head gravely. “Like air, these two.”

Eveline held the empty glass between her hands, felt the heat of shame knowing she couldn’t feed her own babies. “They’re colicky.” It was all she knew how to say.

“No,” the woman said grimly. “No, not colicky. Hungry.” She tried to get Eveline to look at her. “Are you dry?”

“Yes.” She pressed against the glass, thought it might break between her fingers. “Wasn’t at first. Had more milk than I could manage. But they wouldn’t drink, and when they did they threw it up. I’ve been nervous. I don’t know.”

Gerda’s eyes filled with concern as she propped one baby and then the other.

“The doctor came out. He—”

“Dr. Neeb?” Gerda interrupted.

“Yes.”

“Ack.” She rolled her eyes. “Man shouldn’t touch a baby. He vorks vith the dead more than the living.” She raised her eyebrows wisely. “Trust me. He digs up dead bodies and studies them. Keeps them in his basement. Fishes out frogs from the creeks and opens ’em up, stores the innards in jars.” She shuddered.

Eveline remembered the smell of formaldehyde on the little man and cringed. “Well, he told me to stop nursing and only feed them cow’s milk. We give them the milk from the healthiest cow we got. None of us touch it for butter or cream or for ourselves. Just for the babies and they cough it all up.” The words tasted bitter. She reached for the schnapps to wipe the taste away.

“These babies are sick, Eveline,” the woman said gently but firmly. “There’s something in the milk that no good for them.”

“What am I supposed to do, stop giving them milk?” She said the words as if they were crazed speech.

“That’s exactly vhat I’m saying. Something not right vith the milk for them. Try goat milk. If still comes up, mash up oatmeal or rice vith vater.”

“I tried that, but they choke on it.” Her hand reached for her throat as if something held it.

Gerda leaned forward and patted her knee. “This is no fault of yours, Eveline. Take no shame.”

Her chin wrinkled. She did take shame in it. “I can’t feed my own children,” she whispered, despondent.

“God gives vomen the greatest gift, to be able to create and carry and birth a new life. God gives vomen—only vomen!—that miracle.” The woman held her eyes and would not let her look away. “But God also gives a curse in the same gift. For ve love these little ones that grow inside of us so much that ve forget that ve are only humans and our bodies can do only vhat they can do.”

Gerda leaned back then and smiled at the drowsy babies. “I had twelve children. Twelve miracles. But there has been suffering, too. And I felt this shame that you feel, dear Eveline. That I did something wrong. That I was not a goot enough woman and so my children had to suffer.”

Her gaze wandered to the window. “You saw my Fritz. Saw that his mind no good. Doesn’t work right.” Sadness drifted over the large features, aged them. “My Fritz a good boy. As good a boy as you could get but slow, you see. Nearly a man but vith the mind of a little boy. His birth vas hard, Eveline. Very hard.” She shuddered with the remembrance. “Ten children before came out like vith a sneeze, but not this one. Feet first and the cord wrapped around his neck. Blue he vas. Blue like a sky ripe vith storm. But he lived but vas never right. But it’s okay. He a good boy. Works hard. Like an ox.” She patted Eveline on the sleeve. “You need a strong back, call on my Fritz.”

The woman’s hands went idle in her large lap. “Then, there’s my youngest, my sweet Anna.”

Eveline was surprised. The girl seemed perfect in every way.

Gerda nodded at this, read her mind. “Yes, seems perfect. But look closely and you’ll see.” She painted a line at the edge of her forehead at the hairline. “She vears a vig. My Anna hasn’t a hair on her head. Got scarlet fever when she was four. Almost lost her, but by some miracle she lived, but she’ll be bald her whole life.”

Eveline’s chest hollowed. “I’m so sorry, Gerda.”

But the woman’s eyes sparkled. “It’s just hair, you see. And my Fritz, it’s just his mind. They’re still here vith me.”

She turned back to the babies and her eyes grew sad. And Eveline knew Gerda did not see the same life in her children as she saw in Anna and Fritz.

*

Andrew and Pieter stepped through one of five pigpens at the far north of the property. The earth was hard and packed, as the rains had been lean that August. Only the areas near the long troughs were wet and slick, thick with mud laced with withering lettuce leaves and carrot tops. Pieter took him over to a low, wooden covered stall and peeked in the door. “Piglets are in there. Lost another one overnight, so doubt they’ll make it through the week. But give it a try. I’ll wrap them in a basket before you leave.”

The men entered the wide door of the three-story bank barn, the air warm and husky, sweetened with fresh hay and the smell of steaming farm animals. The barn was huge and Pieter examined the girth with hands on his hips, nodded with approval as if he had built it. “It’s a good barn. Strong. Some of those beams over a foot thick.” He walked to the right to the cow stalls. “These are our new ones, Holsteins. Can’t get better milkers than the Holsteins. Even the farmers that hate the Germans know that.” He nodded proudly. “This bunch only been here a couple weeks, but been milking as good as our others.”