Rebeka's Quilt
Rebeka's Keepsakes Series
Sara Harris
Excerpt:
What was that noise? Mrs. Yoder, perhaps? No, Mrs. Yoder already came up to check on Ma’s progress.
No, she remembered Mrs. Yoder’s soft voice telling her that her mother’s labor was progressing slowly. She had claimed to be positive that it would be at least a few days longer before the baby would make an appearance.
Gently, Rebekah picked up the quilt piece and examined it. Her throbbing arm made it hang lopsided before her. She’d worked on it for what seemed like forever, but there was still so much that needed to be completed before it was finished.
She glanced into the bag. It contained more than enough squares to finish the quilt. Then, she looked back to her handiwork. It simply didn’t look the way a quilt was supposed to look. Especially not like Elnora’s at this stage in the process.
The stitches were crooked. They made Katie’s look closer to perfect than hers had ever been. Her morning star pattern, which was constructed from pieces of dresses she had saved from her younger days, was off-center and uneven. Not even her squares were uniform. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to cut any two squares the same size. Even worse, the fabric was rumpled from constantly being shoved into her bag.
“At least I’ve finally gotten the knack of double-stitching so that my pieces actually stay together,” she muttered.
Despite everything, the result was little more than a sad excuse for a quilt-in-progress. Rebekah yawned in the thick, damp air. She leaned sideways and placed her project on the bedside dresser.
“Help, please,” a breathy voice managed from the hallway.
“Ma?”
She slid her legs over the side of her bed and eased them down until her feet met the hardwood floor. Her father had laid this floor expertly in only a few days, or so she’d heard tale.
Shards of pain sparked up her leg and her stomach lurched. She choked on the yell that strangled in her throat as the rest of her body joined her feet on the floor. Tears blurred her wobbly vision.
A strained groan came from the direction of her parent’s room.
Rebekah shook the foggy stars from her head.
Standing up isn’t an option. She flexed her multi-hued ankle as she sat on the chilled floor that had moments before been her ally. Nope, certainly not an option.
A series of pants echoed in the dark hallway.
“I’m coming, Ma.”
Ignoring the seeping dankness, she stretched out on the floor in her thin nightgown and pulled herself along the smooth boards with her hands. She slithered to the doorway like a snake through the grass.
Rebekah managed to navigate around the doorframe only to knock her head on something stationary that shouldn’t be there. “Ow!”
Her mother’s labored breathing drew Rebekah’s attention from her own sudden pain.
“Rebekah,” she rasped. She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that her daughter’s head had just met her nose. Hard.
“Ma, are you okay?” The absurdity of that question filled the air. Of course her pregnant mother, lying here alone in the early morning darkness, was not okay.
“The baby.”
She didn’t wait for her to finish. She scurried to her mother’s feet and paled at what she saw.
By muted moonlight, it was obvious that the dark pool beneath her mother was blood.
“Mrs. Yoder said the baby wouldn’t be coming for a while,” Rebekah stammered. She chewed the inside of her lip as the sea of churning thoughts attempted to push a coherent solution to this predicament into the forefront of her mind. It didn’t work.
Clear fluid puddled around her mother in stark contrast to the crimson stains. “Something’s wrong.” Tension broke her words in unnatural places. “With the baby—something’s wrong.”
Helpless tears sprang into Rebekah’s eyes without warning. “What, Ma. Tell me what’s wrong.” She swiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”
A grunt from Elnora gave her pause. “I have to push.”
She fumbled with her mother’s nightgown. “You push if you need—” Rebekah sucked in a hard breath. “Ma, I see feet.”
Elnora stopped panting. “Feet?” She shook her head in tiny shakes. “Oh, Rebekah, no. No!”
“What do I do?” Hysteria rose in her throat and pinged the ends of her words.
“Turn him. Turn the baby.”
The sea of thoughts began to churn again in Rebekah’s mind. This time, they were vicious and wild.
“Ma,” she began. Icy fingers of fear clenched tightly at her throat. A very real pain seared there, just beneath her chin. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Dear Father,” Elnora prayed, oblivious to Rebekah’s plight. “Please turn the baby or he’ll die.”
Rebekah placed her hands alongside the tense bulge on Elnora’s stomach. “Please Father, help me save my little brother or sister.”
She closed her eyes and tried to visualize how he or she was laying. Her eyes still closed, she began to sing.
“Dein heilig statt hond sie zerstört.” She crooned the ancient song, penned by early Anabaptist martyr Leonhard Schiemer, in Pennsylvania Dutch. She drew out each word of the hymn as long as the note would allow and gave her song a peaceful, chanting feel. Rebekah lowered her face nearer to her mother’s belly. Singing in a steady and even tone, she continued. “Dein Altar umgegraben.”
She pressed against the bulge with a firm hand and felt the fluttering movements of her tiny sibling.
“Oh,” Elnora cried. “He’s moving!” Sobs overtook her words. Rebekah noticed a trembling in her mother’s knees that wasn’t there before.
Sure enough, under the pressure of her hand, the baby was turning.
Elnora whimpered and shoved her hand into her mouth. Rebekah noticed a trickle of blood drip down her mother’s wrist.
Rebekah felt a fullness settle into her mother’s lower abdomen.
“Thank you, Father,” she prayed. Streams of sweat stung her eyes and glued her hair to her forehead. The solemn hymn still crept from her lips. “Dazu auch deine Knecht ermördt”
Beneath her hands, her mother’s belly tightened, and Elnora began to push.
Her mother screeched.
“The head!” Rebekah announced. “It’s a head.”
Her mother’s mind was elsewhere, far removed from her daughter as she worked hard to bring her baby into the world. She was silent after the scream, her eyes shut tight.
The front door slammed, and booted footsteps pounded across the bottom floor, then up the stairs. Rebekah held her sibling’s fuzzy, black-topped head as the baby began to rotate again. Then it stopped.
Author Bio:
Sara Harris, formerly known as Sara Barnard, is a native west Texan, conservationist, mother of six youngsters, certified teacher and certifiable Gypsy. Sara and her children have made their home in places all over the world, from the beautiful Oklahoma plains to the eclectic mountains of Vicenza, Italy.
Sara began writing in the third grade and realized her passion for the pen (er, pencil) when she won first place in an essay contest. The subject was animals and Sara wrote about the life and untimely death of her beloved tomcat, J. Thomas O'Malley. Too embarrassed to listen to her essay being read aloud at the P.T.A. meeting, Sara hid in the hallway until the assembly was over. In the sixth grade, Sara had her tonsils out and received as a gift from her parents, a copy of Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove, which proved very influential to her in good times and bad.
The pull of adventures just waiting to be had coupled with her love and admiration for nature and the wilderness kept Sara on the move during her teenage summers with The Student Conservation Association. From Alaska to the wilds of New Mexico, Sara has piloted small aircraft, counted bats, tracked mountain lions, relocated rattlesnakes, hiked with black bears, and fallen in love over and over again with the roads less traveled.
After earning her degree in History, Sara experienced the scariest adventure of all: children.
Three little ones later, Sara decided to put finger to keyboard and wrote her first novel, A Heart on Hold, which then turned into a four-book series.
The many revisions and edits that took place next weren't entirely completed until well after her fourth baby was born. Despite a couple of rounds with cancer, her publication list has grown to include Civil War Romance, Amish Romance, Amish Adventure, anthology pieces, Christian Western, YA Time Travel, Light Horror, Native American Middle Grade fiction, Children's Nonfiction, picture books, and even more to come!
In February 2018, Sara married a man who puts romance novel heroes to shame. Together, they packed up, picked up, and left the winds of west Texas behind and set up housekeeping in the Houston suburb of Katy, Texas -- complete with kids, dogs, and cats, of course.
Nowadays, when she isn't being a mommy to their army of munchkins, Sara is excitedly helping her husband Wesley, a master plumber, with his aptly named plumbing business - As You Wish Plumbing and is back in school earning her Bachelor of Science degree in Nursing.
She squeezes in a little time for writing, too, and has a new four book Amish series titled Rebekah's Keepsakes coming from Vinspire Publishing May 31, 2019. Her four-book YA historical series, The Saga of Indian Em'ly, was released from Prairie Rose Publications on December 20, 2018 and her debut paranormal thriller, House of Madness, released in January 2019 from WordCrafts Press.
Thus, the great change of Sara Barnard books into Sara Harris books was born.
She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Hearts Through History, West Houston Romance Writers of America, Catholic Writer's Guild, The Transylvanian Society of Dracula, and Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators, and The Western Fictioneers.
@SaraHarrisBooks
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