Abigail's New Hope (The Wayne County Series) Read online

  “Jah, true enough, but this whole mess has me worried. Why didn’t Doc Weller come to the farm?”

  “He had responded to a hazardous situation in Ashland. They summoned all available medical personnel not on emergency call to treat possible toxic chemical exposure.”

  “He didn’t show up later?”

  “No, just the EMTs who transported Mrs. Fisher and the infant. Oh, and then someone from the sheriff’s department and the coroner arrived.”

  “The sheriff’s department?” he asked. His dark eyes flashed with apprehension.

  “Of course they came. It’s standard procedure when there’s been a death from unknown causes. Women aren’t supposed to die in childbirth.” Abby closed her eyes for a moment silently wishing she could have stayed in bed all day with the covers pulled over her head.

  “How come Nathan Fisher refused to call an ambulance?”

  “He said his wife wouldn’t let him. And I don’t know why she wouldn’t if that’s your next question. Maybe she had a bad experience in a hospital at some point in time. Maybe she had an unreasonable fear of doctors. You told me not to muddy the waters with suppositions, yet you keep asking me questions I can’t answer.” She struggled to her feet to make something to eat. The bitter coffee was churning in her stomach. “All I know is that I called the ambulance when I got there, but I think her uterine wall tore during delivery before I arrived. I did everything I could to save her, Daniel.”

  He suddenly realized how his queries must have sounded. “Mir leid, fraa,” he apologized. “I know you did, but you delivering that baby by yourself doesn’t bode well.”

  Abby sighed and bit back her retort. Arguing with Daniel would only make her feel worse. She tucked an apple into her apron pocket. “I’m walking to the neighbors to get Jake and Laura. They are probably wondering what’s happened to their mamm. How does meatloaf and mashed potatoes sound for supper? I’ll pick some fresh spinach with Laura when I get back. There should be enough ready for a salad.”

  “That sounds good. I need to finish cutting the hayfield before dinner.” They walked outside together, and he pulled on heavy work boots while she laced up tennis shoes.

  “I burned your clothes, Abby, so they would be done with. It must have been awful. I’m sorry you had to endure that. Maybe it’s time for you to stop midwifing. Ohio doesn’t seem to be ready to give you a proper license. Let the registered nurse-midwives do the delivering around here.”

  Abby stopped in midstride. “We’ve discussed this, Daniel. The nurse-midwives work at the birthing center where they make more money and have far more control over the situation. None of them want to follow Dr. Weller around on his rounds to homes and farms. Yet you know yourself many Amish women refuse to have babies anywhere but at home. At least our community is fortunate to have a physician still willing to make house calls.”

  “Jah, but for how much longer? Weller is getting up there in years.”

  “We must take life one day at a time. I’ve been praying for another licensed midwife to come to Shreve, one who is comfortable with Amish ways, and I’ve been praying some young doctor will find our part of the world simply irresistible and move here.” Abby buzzed a kiss across his cheek and marched down the stairs. She was eager to stretch her rubbery legs and even more eager to rest the tired topic. Even though he was Amish, Daniel didn’t understand. And surely no one outside their community understood why so many Plain women chose to give birth at home. Debate continued in the legislatures of Ohio and Pennsylvania to license trained midwives who weren’t RNs, but resistance remained among other medical professionals. And yesterday’s outcome would only increase the opposition. An Amish man or woman would conclude that the Lord chose to call Ruth Fisher home last night, but an Englischer might see her death as an avoidable and needless tragedy.

  By the time she reached her neighbor’s tidy yard, she forced thoughts of last night from her mind. Her children ran toward her from the garden with arms open wide. If she hadn’t been ready for their embrace, they would have knocked her down.

  “Mamm, come look in the barn!” cried Laura.

  “New pups,” added Jake as Abby lifted him off the ground and settled him against her hip.

  “Let’s hurry,” said Laura, dragging her by the hand.

  Her neighbor grinned and waved as she hung laundry on the line. Abby waved back and then followed her daughter into the dimly lit barn, smelling sweet from fresh-cut hay. The newborn spaniel pups tumbled and jostled as they vied for position to nurse from their mother. The cocker mom napped on a blanket-lined bed of straw in one corner of an empty stall. The pups, with eyes barely open, were heartbreakingly adorable.

  “Miz Amy says we can look but not touch,” whispered Laura. “We’re not allowed to pick them up yet.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Abby, “they’re still too little to be handled much.” She knelt down in the stall for a closer look. The new mom seemed sound asleep until Jake bumped the stall wall. Then she eyed him suspiciously. Laura leaned close enough to be counted among the pups.

  “Easy, Jake. Back up, Laura,” cautioned Abby. “Let’s not make the dog nervous by crowding too close.” The children scooted back and crossed their legs Indian-style to watch the pups’ antics with utter fascination.

  “Could we ask Miz Amy if we can have one? They are so cute.” Laura’s face filled with joy.

  “Jah, mamm, a pup! A pup!” Jake’s enthusiasm managed to surpass his sister’s.

  “What about Boots? I thought you were fond of her.”

  “She always stays in the cabin in the woods, and it’s been a very long time since old Betsy died,” reasoned Laura. “We could use a new watchdog. I just know these will be good ones.” Her grin made her dark eyes sparkle.

  Abby chuckled at the idea of six months being a very long time in a child’s perspective, and also about the idea of a floppy-eared spaniel being a watchdog. But the pups were quickly worming their way into her heart too. “We’ll ask your daed during dinner, but don’t badger him the moment he comes in from the fields. Let him wash up and eat his supper. Then he might be persuaded to take a cocker spaniel, even though he had his heart set on a springer.”

  “We’ll just have to get two kinds of dogs,” Laura said with the wisdom of a six-year-old. She gently scratched the dog behind the ears and was rewarded with a lick of her hand.

  Abby loved watching the pups clamber over each other and could have stayed all afternoon, but her stomach growled loud enough to be heard. Standing, she brushed straw from her dress and pulled her children to their feet. “I know how you love sticking your fingers in your mouth, so let’s wash your hands at the pump. And don’t dawdle. We still need to pick spinach for supper.”

  For the remainder of the day—picking salad ingredients in the garden, fixing dinner, eating with her beloved family, and rocking on the porch swing while Daniel read Scripture aloud—Abby forced thoughts of Ruth Fisher from her mind. God would watch over Nathan and his new son. She let the last of her self-recriminations and doubts float up into the starry sky and again slept soundly.

  Nathan had never been so happy to see anyone as he was his aunt when he returned from the hospital two days later. District members had come to the hospital to offer condolences and their help with chores at his farm. His cows had been milked, his chickens fed, and his horses cared for during his absence. Several nearby farmers had even cut his hay. The generosity of his new community touched his heart.

  Especially because no one knew him very well.

  This would have been a good place for his shy wife if she had lived. But God had other plans for Ruth, and Nathan had been left with a baby needing his mamm, not him. What do I know about taking care of a boppli? The pediatric nurses had spent several hours teaching him basic infant care and had sent him home with a question-and-answer booklet, but he still didn’t feel comfortable holding the tiny child in his big, leathery hands. So when Iris Fisher walked onto his porch, drying h
er hands with a towel, Nathan breathed a sigh of relief and uttered a prayer of gratitude.

  “Aunt Iris,” he called, lifting the baby carrier from the hired van. “I’m very glad to see you.” The bishop had thoughtfully arranged for a car and driver to bring them home from the hospital.

  The middle-aged woman hurried down the steps to meet them. “Guder nachmittag, Nathan,” she greeted as she peered into the carrier with one hand fisted at her throat. “Welcome home, little Abraham,” she said as she peeled back the blue fleece blanket the hospital had provided.

  “I have formula, bottles, and diapers, plus whatever else they packed up for me.” Nathan looked into his aunt’s face, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

  “With all the diapers and clothing your wife sewed and everything folks in the district dropped off, I would say your son will be set for some time to come. Why don’t I take him inside and check his diaper while you carry in the remainder?” She barely waited for a nod of agreement before she took the baby carrier and marched toward the house. As Nathan watched her go, a tremendous wave of relief washed over him.

  How would I have managed without her? It was hard enough to face each day without his Ruth, but an Amish man is sorely prepared to care for a boppli. “Danki, Lord God,” he whispered, “Danki.” He unloaded the boxes and bags from the van and then reached for his wallet.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Fisher. The fare has already been paid by your bishop, including my tip. I’ll not take your money.” The driver offered his hand, which Nathan shook heartily.

  “Thank you for bringing me…us…home.” Laden down with supplies, he walked toward the house as the driver hurried after him carrying the largest box of diapers ever made.

  “I was mighty sorry to hear about your wife.”

  Nathan couldn’t think of a suitable comment, so he kept walking with his eyes focused on what had been his home for the previous six months.

  “Thanks again,” he said at the back door. After setting his load down, he pulled the box of diapers from the driver’s hands. Once the man had returned to his van and left, Nathan exhaled a sigh of relief and entered the back hall. His kitchen looked nothing like it had two nights ago. The floors, walls, and windows had been washed. Curtains he didn’t recognize wafted gently in the warm breeze, while jars of fruit, vegetables, soup, and pickled meats lined the countertop. He supposed Iris had left them out for him to see before packing them away into the cupboards, pantry, and the cellar. The generosity of his neighbors appeared to have no limits. He contemplated looking for Iris and the baby, but an unbearable weariness came over him. He slumped into a chair in the pristine room without enough energy to lift a finger.

  Ten minutes later his aunt bustled into the room. “Ach, nephew. You look as though you could use a cup of coffee. You probably didn’t sleep a wink at the hospital.” She lit the propane burner under the pot. “I know I’d like a cup too.”

  “Danki for coming, Aunt Iris. I am in your debt.”

  “Nonsense. I’m happy to make myself useful. Because my three daughters-in-law turned out to be industrious, I rattle around in the dawdi haus all day without enough to do.” She winked one of her cornflower blue eyes. “Except when the garden produce comes in or on quilting days, there’s not enough work for four women. One of my sons moved me into your guest room, so I will stay as long as you and little Abraham need me.” She poured two mugs of coffee and carried them to the table.

  “That could be a long while,” he said softly, wrapping his fingers around a mug.

  “Then so be it. I’ll enjoy taking caring of your son, Nathan. My youngest kinskinner will start school in the fall, so the house will seem empty. Babies are such a blessing.” She stirred two teaspoonfuls of sugar into her coffee.

  He slanted her a wry glance, not feeling particularly blessed at the moment.

  “They are, nephew. You’re in mourning now; that is normal. But someday you’ll see what a joy your son is. He’s a living reminder of your wife, and she will go on through him.”

  He stared down at the oak tabletop and held his tongue, fearing he’d say something he’d later regret.

  “This was the Lord’s will.” Her voice sounded soft and gentle.

  “I know, and I accept the will of God.” He tried to relax his fingers, which had curled into fists.

  Iris waited to see if he would say more, but he remained quiet. “What’s in your heart?” she asked. “Maybe talking to me would help.”

  “Yammering about stuff endlessly is the English way, not our way.” He sipped his coffee, gripping the mug tight enough to crack porcelain.

  “True enough, but holding in anger will eat a hole in an Amish stomach just as easily as an Englischer’s. Do you hold the midwife responsible? Is she the one you are mad at?” She studied him over the rim of her cup.

  Her question caught him off guard. “Mrs. Graber? No, she’s not to blame. She tried her best and did everything she could to save Ruth.” Nathan focused on a freshly washed wall, noticing that the calendar displayed the wrong month. He waited, hoping his aunt would change the subject or offer another option besides the truth. But she sat patiently. After a few moments, he met her gaze. “I’m the one to blame. It’s my fault Ruth is gone.”

  “Your fault? Oh, no, it couldn’t possibly be—”

  He held up a hand to stem her interruption. “Now that you asked, hear me out. Since the day Ruth and I married, I always said things like ‘I can’t wait until the bopplin start coming,’ and ‘I hope we end up with six girls for you and a half dozen boys for me.’” He grimaced remembering the joyous look on Ruth’s face whenever they talked about a large family.

  “That was just chatter, Nathan. All couples are filled with big plans and expectations.”

  “But she knew how much I wanted children, and…I pushed her to see a doctor when things didn’t…happen for us right away.”

  Iris walked to the stove for the coffeepot, mitigating his discomfort from discussing a delicate topic.

  “Ruth had found a lady doctor a couple towns away, so I drove her back and forth several times so she could run tests and whatnot. She even wanted to admit Ruth overnight once, but she refused. Ruth was afraid of hospitals. She didn’t talk much about those appointments, but that was just her way—she didn’t talk a whole lot about anything.”

  Iris nodded, her lips stretched to a thin line.

  Nathan drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I thought the doctor would give her advice on how to…hurry things along.” His breath caught, but he fought down the lump that had risen in his throat. “But that doctor told her she shouldn’t ever get pregnant. That having a baby could jeopardize her life and probably cost the boppli’s life as well.” His voice broke as emotion welled up against his resolve. “That’s what the doctors had told her, but she didn’t tell me any of this until afterward.”

  He lurched to his feet and stumbled to the sink. With the memory of that conversation, his feelings of helplessness and regret flooded back. He stared out the window at fields turning the color of lavender as the sun dropped below the western hills.

  “When did your wife finally tell you?”

  “After she was already carrying our child.” He gripped the edge of the counter so hard his fingers began to cramp. “I would have said forget about boppli or we can adopt a child from somewhere. I never would have wanted her to take a chance with her life.”

  Silently, Iris crept up behind him and patted his back as though he were a child with a broken toy. “Of course you wouldn’t have. And that’s all the more reason why you can’t hold yourself responsible any more than Abby Graber. You didn’t know what the doctor had told her until she was already in a family way.”

  Nathan stared out the window as the evening star rose low in the sky. “She did this for me, Aunt. She sacrificed herself to make me happy.”

  “She did this because she wanted to have a child. She was willing to take a chance. After all, doctors don�
�t know everything. Only God ultimately decides our fate. We all live and die by His hand.”

  “I know that, but I just wished she had asked my opinion about the risk. I would have told her that she was enough for me. Even without kinner we could have had a good life together. I loved her. I loved her so much.”

  Iris patted his back once more but said nothing. What more was there to say? They could discuss the matter like Englischers until the rooster crowed tomorrow, but it wouldn’t change a thing.

  “Come to your bedroom and see your son. He fell asleep almost the moment I laid him down in the cradle. It was as though he knew that cradle had been carved by his daed and the tiny quilt sewed by his mamm.”

  Nathan felt his back turn rigid under the palm of Iris’ hand. “My bedroom? Why is his bed still in my bedroom? I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but you’ll be the one feeding and changing him and such. Don’t you think the cradle should be next to your bed instead of mine?”

  Iris walked around the table to set her mug in the sink. “That’s where I found the cradle, so that’s where I put him to sleep.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  “When he wakes up, I’ll move his bed into your room.” Nathan straightened his back and unclenched his hands, willing himself to relax.

  “Why don’t we go in there now? You could see him and we can move the bed together. I doubt that he’ll awaken, but if he does it’s almost time for his next feeding.”

  “No,” said Nathan without hesitation. “I saw what he looked like at the hospital. He hasn’t changed in the last six hours. I have animals to tend to in the barn. I can’t expect my friends and neighbors to do my chores forever. They have enough work of their own.” He strode to the door, and then he glanced over his shoulder at his tiny, gray-haired aunt, who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. “Danki for the coffee. And I’m obliged to you for also cleaning this place up. I know we left the house in a terrible state that night, and I apologize for that.”