The Amish Midwife's Hope Page 4

  “Nice diversion,” Rebecca murmured when Lizzie peered at the containers being set out.

  “My best tactic,” he responded over his dochder’s head. “Smells wunderbaar,” he told her.

  “Chili for a chilly day. Corn bread. And applesauce cake for dessert.” Rebecca ladled the chili into plastic bowls. “I hope Lizzie likes chili. I didn’t make it spicy.”

  “There isn’t much Lizzie doesn’t like to eat.”

  The kind proved it by enthusiastically digging in the second they’d finished giving thanks for the meal. She managed to get more crumbs on herself than in her mouth when she ate the corn bread. But she gave Rebecca such a charming grin that Rebecca couldn’t help smiling as she handed her a paper napkin.

  “Ducks!” Lizzie squealed when several of them came quacking for a handout. “Can we feed the ducks?”

  “People food’s not gut for ducks,” Rebecca told her. “We’ll bring them duck food next time we come.” She turned to Samuel. “Would you like more chili?”

  “Love some.”

  She served him and added another square of corn bread. She was cutting the applesauce cake when she heard his spoon clatter on the table and he jumped up.

  “Lizzie!” he shouted as he ran toward the pond.

  Rebecca dropped her knife when she saw Lizzie standing at the edge of the pond leaning down to get a closer look at the ducks. She gasped as Samuel raced down and grasped the hem of Lizzie’s dress. He swooped her up into his arms and carried her back to the table as the little girl protested loudly.

  “Oh my goodness, my heart just about stopped,” she told him as he settled Lizzie on the bench beside him. “She was just here two seconds ago.”

  “Tell me about it,” he muttered, out of breath. “They move so fast at this age.”

  “Wanted to see the ducks swimming,” Lizzie complained.

  “We’ll see them after we eat.” He picked up his spoon, then looked at Rebecca. “You probably think I’m overprotective. I know I can be.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Nee. That was a little too close for comfort for me, too.”

  “I just can’t lose her, too,” he said quietly.

  She met his gaze and nodded. “I understand.”

  When she glanced at Lizzie, she saw that the kind’s bottom lip was trembling. Distract, she told herself. Like Samuel, she felt it was the best way to avert a kind’s drama.

  “Lizzie, I brought hot chocolate and the cup I used to drink it from when I was a little girl like you.” She reached for the thermos she’d brought and the little red plastic cup. “Do you like hot chocolate?”

  “Ya!”

  “What do we say?” her dat prompted.

  “With marshmallows?” When he frowned, she giggled. “Please, Rebecca,” she added politely.

  Samuel rolled his eyes. “Thinks she’s funny.”

  “She is.” Rebecca looked at Lizzie. “And she schur keeps you on your toes.”

  Lizzie got up and began dancing on the bench.

  Her dat shook his head and grasped her around the waist. “The longer you keep me from my chili, the longer it’ll be before you get to swing.”

  She plopped back down and began drinking her hot chocolate.

  But if Samuel thought she’d calmed down, he didn’t know his dochder, Rebecca thought as she saw the kind’s eyes gleam with mischief over the cup.

  * * *

  Samuel walked his fields the next day and found himself remembering the day he’d found out he inherited the farm.

  It had come at a gut time in his life.

  He had been feeling mired in grief. Everything reminded him of Ruth. He woke every morning in the bed they’d shared, and made coffee and Lizzie’s breakfast in the kitchen Ruth had loved so much. Even the fields he farmed reminded him of her because as a true hardworking Amish fraa, she had worked alongside him when they needed to plant, to nurture, to harvest.

  He’d wondered if he’d ever get past the bone-deep pain. So many people told him that he would and surely the widows and widowers who tried to comfort him should know. While the pain did indeed begin to lift somewhat, he’d begun to think only a change of scenery would help.

  He’d prayed. Oh, how he’d prayed. And then suddenly, miraculously it had happened. He’d received the letter that had changed his life—and Lizzie’s. Dear Onkel Isaiah had died and left him his farm in Lancaster County. Schur, the two of them had discussed what would happen to it when Isaiah died without an heir, but Samuel had thought his onkel would live for a long time. Now he wondered if the man had crumbled under the weight of grief over losing his fraa. Samuel had stayed in touch, but how much did two men share about their feelings?

  So now Samuel woke in a different bed and a different room, he had a kitchen that had no female touch other than his kind’s crayon pictures taped to the refrigerator, and he was making plans to plant new crops in a field Ruth had never walked with him.

  Finally, he felt he’d begun to heal. He’d never forget Ruth, but he was ready for a new chapter in life. He’d doubted God’s plan for him when he lost his fraa, but now he began to believe he’d been shown God had more in store for him.

  He walked over to his neighbor’s farm and spent the morning discussing crops and the afternoon thumbing through seed catalogs and planning his order. Come spring he’d be ready to bring this place to life again, watch the tender, green shoots push through the rich soil, walk with Lizzie and watch her grow along with all the new crops.

  The barn door slid open. “Hello!”

  He looked up from his seat at an old desk tucked in the barn as Sarah Fisher walked in.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” she said. “I brought you those apple dumplings I promised when we went for a drive.”

  She held out a basket covered with a bright-red gingham napkin.

  He’d forgotten all about them. And Sarah.

  “And coffee.” She held up a thermos.

  “Danki.”

  “I thought you could take a break.”

  He cast about for an excuse and couldn’t come up with one before she was sitting down on a bale of hay and making herself comfortable.

  Remembering how he’d heard the bishop here was very strict about single people not being alone together, he moved quickly and picked up the basket. “Let’s sit on the back porch. I need to keep an ear out.”

  “An ear out?”

  “For Lizzie. She should be home from schul soon.”

  “Oh.”

  She followed him out of the barn, and when she didn’t shut the door, he did so.

  He set the basket on the table on the back porch and invited her to sit in one of the rocking chairs set beside it. She didn’t need to urge him to try a dumpling. It had tender, flaky pastry and just the right touch of cinnamon and sugar in the center of the fruit. When he took a sip of coffee, he discovered she made a pretty gut cup of coffee, too.

  “Delicious,” he told her.

  Sarah’s smile was smug. “Told you I made gut apple dumplings.”

  “You were right.”

  “Daedi, I’m home!” The bundle of energy that was his dochder ran into the backyard and came to an abrupt stop when she saw Sarah.

  “Hello! Did you have a gut day at schul?” he asked her as she ran up the porch steps and dumped her lunch tote on the table beside the rocking chairs.

  She nodded vigorously. “Levi put his sandwich on the stove to heat it and the cheese melted all over!”

  “Sounds exciting.” He gave his daughter a pointed look. “Lizzie, say hello to Sarah.”

  She muttered the greeting and turned to her dat. “Can I have a cookie?”

  “I brought apple dumplings,” Sarah told her. “Would you like one?”

  The little girl shook her head. “Want a cookie.”

  “Lizzie, say danki to Sarah,” Samuel said sternly.

  “Danki, Sarah. Daedi, may I have a cookie?”

  “One.”

  He watched
her run inside and winced as the back door slammed behind her. “Sorry. Obviously I need to work on manners with her some more.”

  “It’s hard for a dat to raise a kind alone,” she said sympathetically. “She needs a woman’s touch.”

  He knew just what woman she was talking about…

  “Sarah, I—”

  He was interrupted when another buggy pulled into the driveway. Samuel prayed it wasn’t the bishop, but then he realized his visitor was even more problematic.

  Lizzie burst out of the back door and ran to greet Rebecca.

  Rebecca got out of the buggy and smiled at Lizzie. Then she looked over in Samuel’s direction and froze when she saw Sarah sitting on the back porch with him.

  Samuel stood. “Hello! Come join us!”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”

  “Please,” he urged and hoped he didn’t sound desperate. “Sarah brought us apple dumplings and coffee.”

  “I see,” Rebecca said as she slowly climbed the porch steps. “Hello, Sarah.”

  “Rebecca.”

  Was it his imagination that the air was suddenly a little chillier? He pulled another rocking chair over for Rebecca.

  “Will you have a dumpling?” Sarah asked politely.

  “Nee, danki. I just ate.”

  “They’re delicious,” Samuel inserted, trying to fill the awkward lull.

  “You want a cookie?” Lizzie asked Rebecca. “I’ll go get you one.” She held up her cookie and grinned. Her mouth was smeared with chocolate.

  Samuel pulled a bandanna out and wiped his dochder’s face.

  “Nee, danki.” Rebecca looked at Samuel with a cool expression he’d never seen on her face before. “I just stopped by for a moment to see if you’d heard Gideon Stoltzfus is having a barn raising this weekend.”

  “I heard that. I haven’t helped with one in a long time. I’ll be there.”

  “His old one wouldn’t have burned down if one of Gideon’s sohns hadn’t been careless with a lantern,” Sarah declared in a judgmental tone.

  “Accidents happen,” Rebecca said gently. “Naiman is very sorry.”

  Sarah sniffed.

  “Rebecca?”

  She turned to Lizzie. “Ya?”

  “When are we going on another picnic?”

  Color rose in Rebecca’s cheeks. “I don’t know. How was schul today?” she asked, changing the subject.

  Lizzie began telling her about the melted cheese sandwich. Samuel saw Sarah shift in her chair and look impatient as the story went on for some minutes. Finally, Sarah stood and picked up her basket. “I must be going.”

  Relieved, Samuel stood and walked with her to the porch steps. “Danki for the dumpling.” Evidently she wasn’t leaving any.

  “You’re wilkumm.” She descended the steps and walked swiftly toward her buggy. There was a decided flounce to her steps.

  He’d offended her but didn’t know how to fix it.

  “I hope she didn’t leave because of me,” Rebecca said when he returned to his chair.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “We’ve never gotten along that well. I—” She hesitated. “I think she was interested in Amos before we started dating and married.”

  “I see.” He watched the buggy roll down the drive.

  “Well, I must be going as well.” Rebecca rose.

  At that same moment, Lizzie tugged at his sleeve. “Can I have another cookie?”

  “Rebecca, wait a moment.” He turned to Lizzie. “Why don’t you go see if Naomi can play with you for a little while?”

  Lizzie brightened at the suggestion. “Bye, Rebecca,” Lizzie called over her shoulder as she rushed off the porch and ran to the neighbor’s house.

  Samuel turned back to Rebecca. “I didn’t invite Sarah here.”

  “It’s your business,” she said, her tone reserved.

  “I’m not interested in other women,” he said as he stood and stared into her eyes. She eyed him warily.

  “Stay. Have a cup of coffee with me and we’ll talk.”

  He held his breath, waiting for her response. If she left now, he feared she’d never give him another chance.

  “I can stay for only a few minutes,” she said at last. “And make it tea, please.”

  Encouraged, he went into the kitchen and made her a cup of tea as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to risk her getting a call and having to leave.

  When he carried it outside to her, she was still there. “I didn’t invite Sarah here and I don’t know why she stopped by. Well, we bought apples the day we went for a drive and she mentioned she made gut apple dumplings and she’d make me some, but I didn’t really think anything of it.”

  “Perhaps she thinks you’re interested in her.”

  “I’m not. I’m not the type of man who would see two women at the same time.”

  “I don’t think you are,” she said, speaking slowly as if she was choosing her words carefully. “But Sarah is obviously interested in you.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. Maybe I need to find a way to tell her that.”

  “Since we’re being honest here, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” she said. “Why did you ask me out again after you stopped seeing me the first time? I know you have a problem with me being a midwife. I’m not going to stop being one.”

  “Nee. And you shouldn’t. It’s work you love and work that’s needed.” He looked over at the farm where Lizzie played with her freund. “I’m not saying that I just got over how your occupation reminded me of Ruth. But I don’t want it to cost me a woman I’m finding I want to be with more and more. So if you can be patient with me, I am working on it.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment and then nodded. “I can do that.”

  Chapter Five

  Rebecca’s first prenatal patient of the morning greeted her with a shy, nervous smile.

  Linda Mast was a young woman in her early twenties and possibly Rebecca’s most anxious patient ever. Which Rebecca could understand, since this was her first boppli. She sat on the examination table with a piece of paper clutched in her thin hands.

  Linda always had a list. Was Rebecca schur that the boppli was allrecht? How long was this dreadful morning sickness going to last? Was Rebecca schur that it didn’t mean there was something wrong with the boppli? Why wasn’t the boppli moving more? Her schwemudder said that her bopplin had always moved so much she’d barely been able to sleep a wink at night.

  Rebecca answered all her questions as she took Linda’s blood pressure and noted it in her chart. Ya, the boppli was just fine, she assured her patient as she took measurements and marked those down as well. Linda was more than fine—she was right on track.

  Then Rebecca asked some questions of her own. Was Linda keeping some crackers on her bedside table and nibbling them before she got up in the morning? Did the smell of bacon frying still bother her? Perhaps Linda’s mann could go without it for breakfast for a few more weeks. Or perhaps his mudder could cook it for him in the dawdi haus. Sometimes morning sickness extended into the fourth month of pregnancy but it should ease off soon, she assured Linda.

  When she saw that Linda still wore a frown of concern, Rebecca took the stethoscope she wore around her neck and handed it to her patient. She showed Linda how to insert the earpieces and gently pressed the disk-shaped part to her abdomen. She waited.

  Linda’s forehead furrowed deeper as she concentrated. “I don’t hear—” And then her eyes widened in shock. “Nee, wait! I can hear it! I can hear the baby’s heart beating!” Tears began rolling down her cheeks.

  Rebecca smiled. “Now do you feel better?”

  Linda nodded. “I just got worried because the boppli doesn’t seem to move much.”

  “Sometimes they’re like that. I want you to call me whenever you’re worried. Promise?”

  “I promise.” Linda handed back the stethoscope. “Does it get any easier? Pregnancy, I mean.”
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  “It does.” She tucked the stethoscope into her bag. “Every pregnancy is different, but just like with everything we do, you’ll feel a little more confident with each day that passes.”

  The average Amish family had seven children, so many of her mudders took their pregnancies a lot more calmly than first-timer Linda.

  Rebecca helped her down from the exam table. “Remember to put crackers on your bedside table and then during the day try to eat a little more, have some protein, vegetables. You’re still a bit underweight.” She opened the door and walked Linda out.

  “I will.”

  Rachel, her next patient, sat on the back porch in a rocking chair. When the two women approached her, she looked up from petting Rusty, the neighborhood cat. “Guder mariye, Linda. You’re looking well.”

  “You, too.” Linda bent to pet the cat, then rose and smiled. “See you both in church on Sunday.”

  Rebecca tried not to frown when she saw how puffy Rachel’s ankles looked. They headed inside and when they entered the examination room, Rachel stepped onto the scale, then sat on the exam table. “I saw you looking at my feet.” She sighed. “I haven’t seen them in ages.”

  Bending down, Rebecca pressed her fingers gently on one of Rachel’s ankles. She frowned. “They’re swollen. I didn’t see this in your previous pregnancies. What are you doing differently?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You must think harder. Are you on your feet more? Eating differently?” That’s when she saw it—that flash of embarrassment she’d have missed if she hadn’t been looking for it. “What?”

  “I’ve been craving salty foods,” Rachel admitted. “French fries. Potato chips.” She sighed again. “Guess it was better when I craved ice cream.”

  “Let’s start with avoiding these foods,” Rebecca said, moving over to her desk to pluck a list of salt- and sodium-free foods from a file. She handed it to Rachel. “And try to get off your feet when you can; get them up a couple of times a day.”

  “Giving up the salt will be easier than getting off my feet,” Rachel told her ruefully.

  “I know. But I want you to try it for a week and then come back. Allrecht?”