Ten
Abby tossed and turned that night, as she had every night since her attorney’s visit. She knew what he’d meant by “make sure you tell the whole truth when you’re asked a question in court.” Mr. Blake wanted her to reveal where she had obtained the anti-hemorrhage drug she gave Mrs. Fisher. But how could she possibly do that? The licensed midwife who had entrusted her with the syringe made it clear she was breaking every rule in doing so. She had emphasized that the injection was to be used only in an emergency—a case of life or death. That night, Mrs. Fisher’s situation had certainly qualified.
The retiring midwife had been awarded the distinction of Midwife of the Year many times. She’d enjoyed a long, successful career, bringing thousands of babies into the world. What was the point in ruining the woman’s reputation, stripping her of her nurse’s license, and maybe landing her in jail too? Nothing would bring back Ruth Fisher. One life destroyed should be enough. Two and a half years in jail. How could she withstand separation from her family that long? Yet she remembered her last conversation with the retiring nurse as though it had been yesterday:
Please, Margaret. Let me keep a syringe or two of Pitocin. Nothing works as well when a woman is bleeding too much. It can buy enough time to get the patient to the hospital.
Margaret had frowned, her lips pursing with unease. You know I can’t do that, Abby. It isn’t an over-the-counter drug. I have to account for the doses in my possession. Anyway, you’ll always be assisting Dr. Weller or another registered nurse, so you won’t need your own supply.
Doctors usually arrive well after us and might come too late. And which nurse are you talking about? The job opening for your replacement has been posted for months and still no takers. No one is eager to live in a rural community, apart from the conveniences Englischers hold dear, not to mention miles from the nearest large hospital.
Margaret had closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with the beginnings of one of her commonplace headaches, while Abby held her breath.
Please, I’m pleading with you. Having that drug could save someone’s life.
Margaret had remained silent for what seemed like a long time. When she finally spoke, the toll of working long hours along with the chronic pain of arthritis were evident in her face. All right, one dose of Pitocin—to be used only in an emergency, and only if you’re certain medical personnel can’t arrive in time. She had wrapped the single syringe in sterile gauze, placed it in a bag and handed it to Abby with near reverence. That had been almost three years ago. Margaret hadn’t requested protection from possible repercussions. She hadn’t demanded Abby’s future silence. But the look in her eyes had said it all: She hadn’t wanted to share the medication.
Now, as Abby lay awake, listening to the resonant snores of her roommate ring in her ears, she knew she couldn’t divulge the truth. She would pay the price for this and other mistakes she made in life, but extending the misery to an unwilling participant wouldn’t solve anything. Unable to sleep, she prayed for guidance, turned on the small light above her head, and opened her Bible.
Lately, she’d been reading the book of Judges. Although she enjoyed the story of Samson and Delilah, she couldn’t understand why the Israelites continued to sin and disobey God despite all He had done for them. They worshipped the pagan idols of the people they had been sent to conquer. In the book of Samuel, she read the story of a poor shepherd boy, David, who slew a giant Philistine warrior named Goliath. Without sword or shield, David had brought down his foe with a rock and sling, and then he had cut off Goliath’s head with his own sword. As David’s reward, the king gave him one of his daughters in marriage.
So much bloodshed in the Old Testament, she thought and turned to the New Testament to read about how a large crowd had heard of Jesus’ miracles and had followed Him to where He was in a remote area. That evening Jesus told His disciples to feed the hungry people, but they could only find two fish and five loaves of bread. After Jesus blessed the food, the disciples distributed it among more than five thousand people. After everyone had eaten their fill, twelve baskets of scraps were left over. The disciples had been skeptical, even though they had witnessed great miracles firsthand.
I need to turn this problem over to God. If I have faith and trust the One who fed thousands from so little, surely He can solve the problems of one insignificant Amish woman sitting in a Wayne County jail. With that thought, she closed the Good Book and slept the deep, blissful sleep of a baby.
“Daed, I want to learn to ride a horse. Is that okay?” asked Laura at the supper table.
If her niece’s question took Catherine by surprise, it downright flabbergasted Daniel. “What?” He dropped his spoon into his soup bowl. They had all been enjoying a pleasant supper of chicken noodle soup with corn bread and deviled eggs. Conversation had centered on the weather, the outlook for the corn crop, and how poorly the newest Cleveland Indian pitcher had been doing since midseason. Occasionally, Daniel listened to a ball game on his transistor radio while driving his team of draft horses through the fields. His father-in-law wouldn’t approve if he knew, but other than his fondness for baseball, Daniel was a pious and humble man.
Instead of eating, the kinner were sulking and picking at their food. Daniel had still not inquired about a visit to their mamm in Wooster. Laura seemed intent on drowning a carrot by pinning it to the bottom of her bowl. “I want to learn to ride a horse like Isaiah,” she repeated.
“You are only six years old,” Daniel pointed out.
“How old do you have to be? How old was Isaiah when he first rode a horse?” The girl finally ate the submerged carrot.
Daniel thought a moment and frowned. Apparently, the answer didn’t suit his argument.
“Probably about that age, but let’s not forget that Isaiah is a boy, not a girl.”
This comment drew a stare from Catherine, but she chewed on the inside of her mouth to avoid trouble.
“Do you mean girls don’t ride horses?” Laura’s forehead furrowed with wrinkles. “I thought that Aunt Meghan rode around barrels in races with other girls.” She drew a figure-eight pattern on the table’s oilcloth cover with her finger and peered up at her other aunt.
“That’s true,” said Catherine. “She did. I believe she even won a race one summer.” She smiled at her niece. “But she used a saddle with bit, bridle, and stirrups, which is not the way Isaiah rides. It’s much harder to stay on the horse when riding bareback, not to mention getting on and off the beast. He probably used a saddle when he first learned.”
This gave the girl something to ponder. In the silence that followed, Daniel cleared his throat. “May I have another ladleful of soup, Catherine? I like how you added lima beans to the other vegetables. And it might be time to slice that apple pie I’ve had my eye on in the windowsill.”
She rose to her feet to get his soup, but Laura wasn’t so easily distracted. “Daed, you have a small saddle in the barn. I saw it hanging on the wall. Can I use it to learn to ride?”
He released an exasperated sigh. “I’m sure your Aunt Meghan wasn’t six when she started. You’re too little, Laura. Your legs won’t reach the stirrups even if we shorten them to the highest notch. Maybe in a few years. Why don’t you ask Aunt Catherine to teach you to embroider? That’s a good female pastime.” He began eating his second helping with gusto.
Laura’s lower lip protruded and then began to tremble. Large tears pooled and then poured from her brown eyes like a faucet. “You say no to everything! I couldn’t stay overnight at my friend’s house, then you wouldn’t let me go see mamm, and now I can’t even ride a horse around my own backyard!” She emphasized the last word to make sure he understood she wasn’t asking to ride to Wooster. Then she laid her face down on the table and sobbed, her tears quickly forming a puddle.
Catherine clenched her teeth to keep from intervening between a father and child. She took a knife to the pie, hacking it into six mismatched pieces.
Daniel rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. “Okay, Laura, stop bawling. I’ll ask Isaiah to saddle up his mare. She’s the smallest horse on the farm.” He pushed away his empty bowl.
“You will?” she asked, lifting her head.
“You will?” Catherine’s tone expressed an equal amount of disbelief. She set the largest slice of pie in front of him.
“Jah, I will if he’s still in the barn cleaning water troughs.”
“I can learn to ride tonight?” Laura stared at him.
“If Isaiah hasn’t gone back to his cabin, and if he feels like teaching you. But only inside the paddock, with Aunt Catherine leading the horse by the reins and Isaiah keeping you in the saddle. I won’t have you falling off and breaking an arm. How would I explain that to your mamm when she comes home?”
Laura flew from her chair and into her father’s lap. With her arms around his neck and her face buried in his shirt, she spoke in a muffled voice. “Danki, daed. Danki so much.” From her gratitude an outsider arriving at the door would think she had been awarded a treasure chest of toys.
Daniel patted her back. “You’re welcome. Now finish your soup and corn bread. I’m sure Aunt Meghan never rode a horse on an empty belly.” He turned to his son, who’d been listening with interest. “Jake, you can ride the porch swing with me after supper. How does that sound?”
The boy nodded his head vigorously.
While Laura devoured her meal, Catherine found her own stomach fluttering with anticipation. I will see Isaiah again. That same visitor might assume Catherine was the one getting to climb into the saddle, because she was as excited as her niece.
With supper dishes done and Laura pacing the porch, Catherine resorted to counting cows in the distance to settle her nerves. They didn’t have to wait long, however. Within the hour Isaiah appeared coming from the barn, leading his mare outfitted with a saddle.
“Hullo, Laura. Hullo, Cat.”
He wore clean dark pants, a navy shirt, and black suspenders, and he had replaced his everyday straw hat with his black felt. Catherine knew he hadn’t just finished barn chores, and considering the pink flush to his cheeks, he’d probably showered with the barn’s cold water.
“Hi, Isaiah,” both females chimed as they ran to join him in the paddock.
“Cor-rah,” he said, patting the mare’s neck. He made a calm, stillwater motion with his hand.
“Cora is a gentle horse,” interpreted Catherine.
“Hi, Cora.” Laura greeted the mare while lightly patting her neck. “Pick me up, Aunt. I want to see her face better.”
When Catherine lifted the child higher, Laura leaned so close that beast and child were eye to eye. She kissed the mare above the nose. The girl possessed no more fear of horses than swimming in a pond filled with feet-nibbling fish.
Isaiah laughed at the affectionate gesture as he pulled Laura from Catherine’s arms. He effortlessly swung her into the saddle, and then he also planted a kiss on Cora’s nose. Laura found this worthy of applause. Isaiah held up one stirrup. “Fut,” he said, and Laura slid her boot into place.
Catherine noticed that a recent hole had been bored through the leather, higher and not in line with the others.
“Fut,” he repeated on the other side. Then he handed Laura a short set of reins, and to Catherine he gave the longer lead rope. “Tie-ette,” he enunciated, tapping the child’s leg.
“You want me to hold tight with my legs?” asked Laura, squeezing rather ineffectively in her long dress.
He nodded and tapped her leg again, harder. Laura practiced gripping with her legs while Isaiah steadied her in the saddle.
Suddenly, Laura shrieked. Isaiah might not have known if the animal hadn’t sidestepped. “Spider!” the child cried, pointing to a harmless daddy longlegs sitting on Cora’s mane.
Isaiah leaned in to inspect, and then he gently nudged the bug onto the back of his hand. Without releasing his hold on the saddle, he transferred the spider to an overhead tree branch.
Catherine watched, enchanted by his kindness toward God’s lowest of creatures, and also by the patient instruction of someone who had spent little time in school. Once he was satisfied that Laura understood what to do, he made a small clicking sound with his tongue—a sound so soft Catherine could have missed it. But the brown Morgan heard, shook her magnificent black mane, and began to walk. Catherine hurried a little to get out in front of her with the lead rope. Around the fenced paddock they went—man, woman, child, and horse. And all seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Catherine caught Isaiah staring at her more than once when she glanced over her shoulder. When their gazes met, he blushed and focused on the child, adjusting Laura’s position on the saddle or correcting her posture. But Catherine could sense his attention even with her back turned, and she walked taller and smiled more than usual. Hopefully, I won’t break into a song of joy, she thought, tamping down her emotions.
“Let’s go faster, Isaiah,” demanded Laura. But because he didn’t hear the child, he kept plodding along at a snail’s pace. Laura gave Cora a small kick with her heels, causing the horse to lurch forward.
Isaiah pulled the short reins with a quick “whoa.” Laura reached over to tap his shoulder and almost fell off the horse. He pushed her back in the saddle with a frown.
“Faster,” she begged and made a quick, staccato movement with her hand.
He shook his finger at her and said, “Fass-nuff.”
No problem with his communication today, thought Catherine.
After twenty minutes of going in circles in the paddock, Isaiah took the lead rope from Catherine and led the mare to the back steps. After wrapping the rope around the rail, he lifted Laura off the horse and set her on the porch.
“Danki, Isaiah.” The child offered a quick hug and ran to the door, calling “Gut nacht” as the screen door slammed behind her.
“Danki, Isaiah. Nice of you,” said Catherine, beaming and pointing at his chest. “Good night.” She started up the steps, but he grabbed her elbow before she got too far.
“No.” He gestured for her to follow as he led the horse toward the barn.
Catherine stood stymied on the bottom step, wondering what he needed her help with at this hour.
“Come,” he demanded, halfway down the path.
What could she do but obey his command? After a hesitant glance over her shoulder, she picked up her skirt and hurried after him, hoping Daniel wasn’t watching from the window.
With his long strides and no child on Cora’s back, Isaiah disappeared behind the barn before Catherine could catch up. She slowed her pace to avoid panting like a dog. By the time she rejoined them, Isaiah was adjusting the length of the saddle’s stirrups. He perused her from head to toe, set the buckle into a notch, and then readjusted the other side. Catherine watched, mesmerized, as Cora stood stock-still without being tied during the saddle adjustment.
“Dun,” he said and motioned for her to come closer.
“Me?” she asked, even though no one else was there.
“Jah, you, Cat.” He winked when he spoke her name. Patting the saddle with one hand, he offered his other hand to her.
Comprehension of what he wanted finally registered. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. But she couldn’t stop grinning.
“Jah, Cat.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her to Cora’s side.
She didn’t know what to do, having never ridden a horse before. Her sister Meghan might own a small trophy to prove her expertise, but Catherine had always been afraid of large beasts with flies buzzing around their heads.
But no flies buzzed around Cora when she focused one gentle brown eye on Catherine as though to say: What’s taking you so long? Get on already.
She couldn’t possibly climb onto the horse—she was wearing a dress! And what if she fell off? How would she explain a broken arm to Abby, not to mention Daniel? But how could she not comply and still preserve a friendship with the man she wished to help? Without another thought, Catherine lifted her skirt, put her shoe into the stirrup, and accepted Isaiah’s hand. From the other side of Cora, he pulled hard while she transferred her weight from the ground into the saddle.
It was not a pretty sight if anyone had been watching. And once seated, no matter how she tugged and pulled at her long dress, quite a bit of her black stockings showed on both legs.
What would daed think of me now?
“Fut.” Isaiah held the other stirrup in a position she could reach. Once she complied, he ordered, “Legs tie-ette,” and slapped her exposed black stocking.
Catherine blushed to the roots of her hair, thinking she might die of embarrassment from the touch of his fingers. She forced thoughts of her father from her mind before she fell off Cora into a disgraced heap.
However, Isaiah didn’t seem to find anything embarrassing as he led the horse down the path toward the orchard. He maintained the same slow pace he’d used with Laura inside the ring. Catherine concentrated on holding the reins and the saddle horn, and gripping with her thighs as well as a person could in a dress.
After a few minutes of perfect behavior by Cora, Catherine glanced up toward the sky. Stars twinkled overhead in the purple-black sea as the breeze carried the sweet scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. Venus was low on the horizon, while a crescent moon hung lopsided like a forgotten English Christmas ornament. As they walked, melodic crickets, tree frogs, and hoot owls began their nightly chorus, sounding much louder in the pasture than from the open window of her bedroom. Ahead, Catherine saw the orchard, and to her shock, spotted the outline of a second horse.
Isaiah planned this little escapade, confident I would comply, she thought, giddy with excitement. There’s nothing simpleminded about him at all!
When they reached the tree where the horse had been tied, he tugged the reins from the low branch and mounted effortlessly, never releasing his hold on Cora’s lead rope. Once he was settled in his saddle, Isaiah leaned over to Catherine, who was clinging to her saddle horn with both hands. “Gut?” he asked, meeting her gaze.
She briefly considered the possibility of broken bones, Daniel’s aghast reaction should he find out, and her personal shame if she fell into a mud puddle. After a moment, she drew a breath and nodded affirmatively. “Gut,” she said in a voice crackling with animation.
And gut didn’t come close to describing the nighttime ride through apple orchard, open pasture, and scrub woods of mountain laurel and hemlock. Although Isaiah avoided the dark paths of the deep forest, he took her on an adventure through a world of unknown sights, sounds, and smells. Neither spoke. No one had to. The night was alive with hoots, cackles, croaks, howls, and whispers. Isaiah was at home in the shadowy darkness, with only the moon and stars to point the way. So Catherine relaxed in the saddle and gave herself up to the unexpected.
At no point was she ever afraid.
And if she lived to be one hundred and ten, she doubted she would ever again enjoy herself so much.
Nathan awoke from fitful sleeping to the sound of a coyote howling up in the hills. He bolted upright in bed and scrubbed his face with his palms; then he realized it was no coyote. His son was kicking up a fuss in the next bedroom. He settled back on damp warm sheets in a hot, airless room and heard his windup clock tick…tick…tick. No breeze stirred the curtains as he listened, overtired from long hours in the relentless sun and strung out from worry. How would he pay off all the money he owed? Amish folks weren’t supposed to be in debt, yet Nathan Fisher owed money to just about everyone. The district members didn’t wish to be repaid for their contribution toward the baby’s medical bills or Ruth’s funeral. Instead, he would be expected to chip in for future expenses, such as barn raisings or unexpected surgeries. But Nathan couldn’t imagine himself staying in this district once his one-year lease was up.
Not without Ruth. The memory of that horrible night trailed him around the house like a malevolent shadow. He would never stop hearing her cries of anguish as long as he lived here. So he planned to pay the district and that hospital every dollar he owed and then he would leave this land of painful broken dreams.
In the meantime, how could a man sleep with this racket? He needed to rise at four o’clock for milking and then cleaning stalls while the horseflies were still asleep. Plus, he would have a full day if he wanted to finish cutting hay. After another minute of listening to Abraham wail, Nathan swung his legs out of bed and shrugged into his robe. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked in his aunt’s open doorway.
Iris paced the length of the room with the red-faced infant on her hip. “I’m not sure. He has some heat rash on his back and legs, so that’s probably why he’s fussy.” The boy appeared oblivious to her attempts to soothe or comfort. “I’ll pick up ointment tomorrow when I’m in town.”
“Is there nothing you can do tonight? A man needs to get his rest.”
She knit her brows and glared at him. “So does a woman, I assure you.”
Nathan blew out his breath with a whistle. “True enough, I suppose.” Although he didn’t sound wholly convinced.
“Here, nephew. Hold him while I use the bathroom.” Before he could object, Iris foisted the crying child into his arms and marched from the room.
He peered into his son’s pinched, beet-colored face, uncertain what to do. He tried rocking him in his arms to no avail. He lifted him up and down while making the silly noises he’d heard women do at social events. But Abraham Fisher was having none of it.
As unknowledgeable as Nathan was, he knew the heat wasn’t helping the situation. He carried the child down the hall and out the front door, despite it being the middle of the night. By the time Iris found them, the boy had settled down as Nathan rocked in the porch swing.
“Looks like you’re managing,” she said, slumping into a plastic chair.
“Jah, as long as I keep rocking him out here where it’s cooler. What do you suppose will happen if I lay him down in his cradle?”
“I imagine he’ll start crying again.” She answered without a moment’s hesitation. “That’s part of being a parent.”
“I am not cut out for this, Iris. I need to milk cows in the morning.” He continued rocking, afraid to stop.
“Then you’d better get cut out for it, Nathan Fisher. You worry more about those Holsteins than your own flesh and blood.” Her tone revealed more than simple discomfort from a hot, humid night.
“That’s because I know how to deal with cows. This baby was Ruth’s idea. She wanted a boppli to fuss over like the other women. With her gone I can’t step into her shoes.”
“Shame on you! Your wife died giving you a fine son, and yet you fret and moan and feel sorry for yourself.”
Anger spiked through his blood, but when he opened his mouth to deny her allegations, to lash out against her unfair judgment, no words came to mind. Instead, his eyes filled with moisture, and despite every attempt to control his emotions, two tears ran down his face.
“I know you’re hurting, Nathan. I know you miss your wife,” she murmured. “But your son knows nothing about that. He needs his daed. He needs you.”
It was a good thing she couldn’t see his face, because Nathan sat with tears falling freely. Soon his whole body was racked with sobs. Iris lifted the boppli from his arms and then sat back in her chair. The child, blessedly, drifted off to sleep in the crook of her arm. “How long are you going to carry around this anger toward Abraham?”
Hearing her speak his name filled Nathan with shame. After a little while he spoke with a mouth gone dry. “I don’t want to blame him, to be mad as though this were his fault, but I don’t know how to stop.” He buried his face in his hands and cried.
“I don’t know how to help you, but that lady social worker does. Maybe you should give her a call. The business card she left behind is in the drawer with the pot holders.”
He glanced up. All the fight had gone out of him. He couldn’t argue because every word his aunt spoke was true. “I’ll walk to the neighbors’ tomorrow and call her.”
“No, you’ll be watching your son tomorrow. My daughter-in-law is picking me up in a hired van to take me to the doctor’s office. After that, I’m buying her lunch at the buffet restaurant and then we’ll do a little shopping.”
He stared at her through the near darkness, but her expression didn’t waver. “I know this will be a trial by fire for you, nephew, but that’s your own fault. You should have been learning about diaper changing and whatnot along the way. I’ll leave his bottles ready in the fridge with instructions on how to warm them.” She paused to take in a breath. “I won’t leave until after your cows are milked. I do understand the importance of that chore.” She offered a wry smile.
“Danki, Aunt. And don’t worry. I will do whatever needs to be done.”
She rose to her feet with the sleeping child. “To save you some time, I’ll call the social worker while I’m in Wooster. I’ll ask her to stop out when she can. You have to start somewhere.”
Nathan watched her carry Abraham inside. He hoped the boy would sleep until morning so Iris could get some rest. He, however, would sleep no more that night. He had to figure out how to be a daed by tomorrow.