Sonoma Rose: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel by Jannifer Chiaverini

children’s ward, where Marta and Lupita sat alone in the waiting room. “The nurse took Ana and Miguel in there,” Marta said, breaking off the story she had been telling her younger sister to point down the hallway to the second door on the left. “Mr. Jorgensen went with them, but he told us to stay here.”
    Rosa quickly thanked her and hurried to join the others, her heart sinking when one glance over her shoulder told her that although Sister Mary had headed back toward the stairwell, she was still close enough to have heard Lars’s name.
    When Rosa entered the examination room, Lars and a younger, dark-haired man in a white coat broke off their conversation. “Mrs. Ottesen?” the man greeted her, and when he turned her way, she saw that he bore his weight on crutches and his right pant leg was sewn up at the knee.
    She almost shook her head at his mistake, but a warning look from Lars stopped her just in time. “Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m Mrs. Ottesen.”
    “No,” said Miguel, sitting cross-legged on the examination table beside Ana. “She’s Mamá.” When Ana nudged him, he thrust out his lower lip at her. “Stop it.”
    The man smiled, but he seemed taken aback by Rosa’s appearance. “I’m Dr. Russell. Your husband mentioned that you had an accident on the farm.”
    Involuntarily, Rosa’s hand flew to her bruised face. “Yes,but I’m going to be fine.” She smiled at Ana and Miguel, praying they wouldn’t contradict her.
    “Then are you feeling up to a few questions? Your husband’s told me about the children’s affliction, but as the children’s mother, you’re probably more intimately aware of their symptoms.”
    “Of course,” said Rosa. “Anything.”
    “Maybe Ana and Miguel should wait outside,” said Lars, with a look that told Rosa he knew she would hesitate to tell the whole truth in their hearing. “Marta can keep an eye on them.”
    Rosa helped the children down from the examination table and asked Ana to take Miguel into the waiting room. After they were safely out of earshot, the long, painful tale of her children’s mysterious illness poured out of her. She withheld nothing except for particular details that would betray the fiction Lars had invented to conceal their identities. Dr. Russell listened intently, nodding from time to time, prompting her with questions about the children’s diet and the onset of their symptoms, their appearance, their growth, everything. When she finished, she felt as drained as if her heart had been wrung dry, but also, for the first time, she felt a small spark of hope. No other doctor had ever listened so long and so carefully when she spoke of the children, or with such determination to glean every relevant detail, no matter how minute.
    But when Dr. Russell asked her to sit down, she braced herself for the worst. “Your children are suffering from malnutrition,” he said simply.
    “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “They have plenty to eat.”
    “Yes, they have food, but the chronic diarrhea and vomiting prevent them from taking any nourishment from it,” he explained.“Their abdomens extended from gas, their general pallor and weakness, their poor growth—these are symptoms I would expect to see in children who have an inadequate diet due to poverty and neglect. As I’ve seen, however, your other two daughters seem perfectly robust and healthy, and presumably they enjoy the same nutritious meals as their siblings.”
    “They do,” said Rosa.
    Dr. Russell frowned thoughtfully. “You say Ana and Miguel have no trouble keeping down tortillas, rice, and oranges.”
    “Corn tortillas,” Rosa clarified. “Flour tortillas don’t agree with them. I haven’t made those in years.”
    “Then I encourage you to feed them only tortillas, rice, and oranges until we get to the bottom of this,” said Dr. Russell. “I realize that doesn’t sound like a very well-balanced diet, but your most important duty now is