by Mary Ellis
She need not have worried.
As soon as Isaiah finished eating, he tossed his trash into the hamper, his hat on the grass, and sprinted toward the pond. He circled past the sandy shallow area and headed straight for the fishing dock. When he reached the end of the twenty-foot wooden platform, he dove smoothly into the blue water. Sea lions she’d seen at the Cleveland Zoo couldn’t have acted more at home. He dove deep, swimming underwater for long periods, and then he resurfaced to shake hair and water from his face. Other times he crisscrossed the pond with uniform strokes of his powerful arms. When he would reach one end, he flipped upside down and started back underwater.
Catherine couldn’t take her eyes off him. Even Jake and Laura watched while they ate, mesmerized by the show. “I wish I could swim like that,” said Laura. “I can’t swim well at all.”
“Maybe when you’re finished, Isaiah could teach you.”
“Let’s go ask him!” Laura stuffed her remaining fruit into the hamper and finished her drink with one long gulp.
“Only in the shallow water,” Catherine ordered. “And only with your water wings on.” She picked up one set of wings and began to inflate them with air.
Laura grabbed her bruder’s pair and applied her lung power to the valve. While the females inflated the wings, Isaiah swam back and forth across the pond with abandon—sometimes a lazy butterfly stroke, other times flat on his back with the barest attempt at propulsion. He seemed to be making up for lost time or missed opportunities in his zeal.
By the time Catherine slipped a life ring around Jake’s waist and attached water wings to both children, Isaiah was heading toward them with his black hair slicked back. His smile couldn’t have been grander.
“Wadder gut,” he pronounced.
It took her a moment, but she realized he had spoken English. How confusing it must have been to watch his family mouthing Deutsch words, while his schoolteacher used only English in the classroom. No wonder he’d never learned to communicate well. “Jah, water good,” she agreed. Then she pointed at her niece, shrugged her shoulders with exaggeration, and mimicked a person swimming. She repeated the gestures, but this time she pointed at Isaiah and mimed him swimming gracefully. Then she stood back, hoping for the best.
He thought for a moment to find meaning in the antics. Then he nodded, took Laura’s hand, and walked her into the pond. Catherine picked up Jake and followed after, fearing he would take Laura into water too deep. But when the water rose to the child’s waist, he stopped and knelt down on the hard-packed bottom. He began a patient learn-to-swim program that should be in textbooks. First, Isaiah drew a deep breath and ducked his face into the water. He demonstrated this twice and then allowed Laura to duplicate the action. Each time he would hold his breath a few seconds longer. When it was her turn, he held firmly onto Laura’s arm so she remained stable and confident. Laura and Isaiah were soon holding their breath for a full minute, while Catherine watched near the shore as her nephew splashed around.
Next Isaiah gestured for Laura to join Catherine close to the shore, while he demonstrated treading water in slightly deeper water. When he returned for the child, he allowed her to practice the activity in water up to her shoulders. Laura was a quick study, and no fear of water slowed her progress. And Isaiah turned out to be a natural born teacher—patient, repetitive with movements, and offering security to ease his pupil’s anxiety.
Too bad no one offered any of that to him, Catherine thought. Without warning, something bit her big toe and she howled like a dog.
Isaiah couldn’t hear. Jake was splashing up a storm, while Laura was enjoying the lesson too much to pay attention. But the person standing on the hill heard the yelp, loud and clear.
“I warned you about the biting fish, Catherine,” called Daniel. “They mistake toes for bait.” He turned his focus back to the swimming lesson.
She carried Jake back to the quilt, wrapped him snuggly in a towel, and then inspected—and counted—her toes. “At least they didn’t break the skin,” she said when Daniel joined her at the quilt.
“They wouldn’t eat much if they had.” Daniel grinned with his second joke of the day. “With two ponds so close to the house, I’m glad Laura is learning to swim. And nobody could teach her better than Isaiah.” Daniel’s facial features and tone of voice softened, perhaps by a distant memory. Then he picked up his son and settled him on his shoulder. “But that’s enough for today,” he said. “Time to get them home and start dinner.” Daniel headed in the direction of his house.
Catherine hadn’t noticed how low the sun had fallen in the western sky. “Laura, come out of the water. We must go.” Once the girl acknowledged with a wave, Catherine bent to repack the hamper and fold up the quilt. When she stood up, Isaiah, dripping wet, was standing behind her. He was close enough for her to see reflected sunlight dancing in his eyes.
“Danki,” he said, one word of Deutsch he knew well. “Danki,” he repeated. Then he strode to his horse, who had been munching on tall weeds, shimmied onto her back, and rode off in the direction Daniel had gone.
Catherine and Laura stood staring for several seconds after he disappeared over the hill. “Is he good at everything he does, except talking?” asked Laura.
“Apparently so, dear girl.” And it took great effort for Catherine not to grin all the way home.
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 l
ook 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 bea
st 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.