by Marta Perry
Dr. Brandenmyer nodded toward the exam room. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You have a noticing heart. That’s a rare gift.”
When Sarah came back out a few minutes later, she was surprised to find Dr. Brandenmyer waiting. “Thank you for letting me go in with Naomi. I don’t want to delay you . . .”
“Not at all.” He detoured to a nearby counter and picked up a stack of business cards, which he handed to Sarah. “Count on us to process the tests for you. And don’t hesitate to get in touch if you have any concerns. We’ll be happy to consult with you.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. “Denke,” she said softly. “I’m wonderful glad you are willing to work with me.”
Dr. Brandenmyer glanced at a man walking toward them—fairly young, dressed in ordinary Englisch clothes, not a doctor’s or researcher’s coat. “Here’s someone you should meet, if you haven’t already.”
The man stopped, obviously acquainted with Dr. Brandenmyer. “Thank you for the tour. You have a great facility here.”
Dr. Brandenmyer nodded, probably used to hearing that from visitors. “I’d like to introduce you two, since Mrs. Mast is from your area. Sarah, this is Dr. Thomas Mitchell. Dr. Mitchell, Sarah Mast. She’s in the midwife practice in Pleasant Valley.”
Sarah’s breath caught. So this was the man everyone said was opposed to midwives. Somehow she’d expected someone older and set in his ways. Dr. Mitchell couldn’t be much more than thirty, with an unlined face that made him look even younger.
For a moment the man just stared at her, his gaze icy. Then, without acknowledging her, he turned to Dr. Brandenmyer. “I didn’t realize you had midwives working here.”
Dr. Brandenmyer’s eyebrows lifted. “We don’t yet, but I hope we will, eventually. We’re discussing doing the prenatal and newborn testing for Mrs. Mast’s clients.”
“I see.” Dr. Mitchell clipped off the words. “Frankly, that surprises me. Thank you for inviting me to visit. It’s been interesting.” He gave Dr. Brandenmyer a meaningless smile, turned, and walked away, still without acknowledging Sarah.
Dr. Brandenmyer waited until the door had closed behind him, and then he blew out a breath. “Well, that was unfortunate. Have you had dealings with the man?”
“No. But I did hear that he has spoken out against midwives. I’m sorry if my being here has created an uncomfortable situation for you.”
“Nonsense. I’d say Dr. Mitchell is the one who should be sorry. Still, I’m sure you sometimes encounter medical personnel who will give you problems. But the good that you do for your clients makes the trouble worthwhile, doesn’t it?”
“Ja,” she said, feeling as if she’d found an understanding friend. “It does.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Finished my side,” Benjamin said, flourishing his hammer. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”
Nathan just grinned. “It’s more important to do it right than to do it fast.” He drove the last nail into the window molding.
“Let’s have a look.” Aaron decided he’d best interrupt before they started bickering, although truth to tell, his brothers had been getting on very well since Molly arrived. The past few days had been marked by harmony all around.
He checked out the molding, not that he needed to. He knew Nathan would see that it was done right. He slid his hand along the joins, noting how smoothly Nathan had fitted the pieces together, and felt a glow of something that might have been pride. His brother was a born carpenter, it seemed.
“Gut work. See how much of the next one you can do before we break for middaagesse.”
Nathan nodded. “Can’t believe it is Friday already. This week has gone by in a hurry.”
“I hear they’re working on the school Christmas program already.” Benjamin sounded a little wistful. It hadn’t been that long since the Christmas program was the highlight of his year. “We’ll take Molly, ja?”
“Sure thing.” Aaron stood for a moment, hands on his hips, surveying the work to be done. The finishing would take much of next week, most likely, but the end was in sight.
He’d not be seeing so much of Sarah Mast then. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
He settled down to mitering the corners of the baseboard, taking his time, making it right. Maybe the thing was that Sarah had turned out to be a real person to him, not just a midwife. She was a woman with qualities he admired. He’d not soon forget her courage and strength that day at the pond.
But she was a midwife, and with Molly here, he couldn’t forget that, either. He frowned down at the corner he was cutting, thinking about that conversation with Molly the night she’d arrived.
She hadn’t brought up the subject of seeing a doctor or a midwife since then, and that chafed at him. Little as he knew about it, he thought she should be making that decision.
Why would she even consider having a midwife deliver the baby? She was old enough to remember what happened to Mammi. She of all people should understand why he felt the way he did.
“Someone’s coming.” Benjamin leaned over to peer out the window. “It’s Molly.”
“What is she doing here?” He glanced from Nathan to Benjamin, looking for a sign that they knew something of this unannounced visit. They both seemed as surprised as he was. But not as wary.
Molly tapped on the door frame and held up a basket. “I brought you some lunch. Help me up, already.”
Benjamin moved, but Aaron beat him to it. He took the basket, handing it to his brother, and lifted Molly into the room.
“You should wait until we have the steps built,” Benjamin said, grinning at her. “Or we could rig up the block and tackle from the hayloft.”
Molly took a playful swipe at him. “Mind your manners, or I won’t give you any of the food I brought.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened. “I told you that Emma gives us our lunch. There was no need for you to come here.”
“Ach, I must have forgotten.” Molly evaded his eyes. “I’ll just add what I brought to whatever Emma is fixing.”
“Molly—”
But he was too late. She’d already gone through into the house, carrying her basket.
Not that he could have stopped her anyway. Molly seldom argued about things—she just went her own way, no matter what anyone said. The thought sent a chill down his back.
He knew perfectly well she hadn’t come because she thought she should bring them lunch. She’d come to see Sarah for herself.
Through the window he could see the two of them in the kitchen, setting food on the table, talking and laughing as if they were old friends. They were, in a way, but that didn’t make the situation any better. It made it worse. Molly might feel that she was slighting Sarah by going to someone else for the baby’s birth.
By the time Sarah called them in to lunch, he’d built up a head of steam. At least he knew well enough to keep hold on it.
“You go on.” He gestured his brothers toward the door. “I just want to finish this one piece before I quit.”
Nathan opened his mouth as if to argue, took a second look at Aaron’s face, and followed his younger brother into the house. The door closed on their chatter and the sound of laughter.
Gut. He drove a nail into place with a bit too much effort.
“Aaron?”
He froze at the sound of Sarah’s voice. He’d assumed she was in the house with the others. He’d been wrong.
He picked up another finishing nail. “I’ll be in soon. Just go ahead without me.” He kept his eyes focused on the work.
Sarah moved, but not away from him. Toward him. She came to a stop next to him, and he could glimpse the fold of her skirt in the corner of his eye.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
He took a hasty blow with the hammer and missed the nail completely. Luckily he missed his finger as well.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Her silence told him she wasn’t buying that. Sarah seemed to have a way of knowing too much about his
feelings. He didn’t like that. Although he had to admit that in some circumstances that might be . . .
Maybe it was best not to let his thoughts stray in that direction.
“Molly didn’t come over to bring us lunch. She came because she wanted an excuse to see you.”
It was unfortunate that he knew he sounded like a sulky child.
“Molly doesn’t need an excuse to see me. We are old friends.” She hadn’t moved, but it almost seemed as if she were closer to him, the way her voice warmed.
“I don’t think she came only to renew your friendship.”
“What’s wrong—” She stopped, and he saw her hand tighten against her skirt. “I see. You are afraid that Molly will want a midwife to deliver her baby.”
Afraid. The word echoed in his mind. That was exactly right. He was afraid.
Sarah reached out, as if to touch his shoulder, but then let her hand fall back against her skirt. “She’s your little sister. It’s natural that you would worry about her.”
“You agree there’s reason to worry.” He jumped on her words, turning to look up at her.
She smiled, but her eyes were troubled. “As far as I know, your sister is a fine, healthy woman who’s going to have a fine, healthy baby. So, no, I don’t see a reason to worry, but you’ve been taking care of your brothers and sister most of your life. Of course you’re concerned. That’s what anyone would expect.”
His mouth twisted in an attempt to smile. “I’m not sure Molly sees it that way.”
“She knows you love her and want what’s best for her.” She smiled, and this time she did touch his shoulder . . . a light, caring movement that ended too soon.
“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want her to see a doctor for this baby. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Sarah . . .”
She was already shaking her head. “My feelings don’t have anything to do with it. This decision is for Molly and Jacob to make.”
“That’s what she said.” He frowned down at his hand, clenched so tightly on the hammer that his knuckles were white. “Maybe it would be easier if Jacob were here. It’s hard on a young couple, being separated at a time like this. She doesn’t have him, so she depends on me. Does she expect me just to stop caring what she does?” He was crazy, to be talking about this to Sarah, of all people.
“No.” Her voice was soft. “She expects you to let her grow up, Aaron. That’s all. Just let her grow up.”
Sarah set the bassinet next to the stove in Dora Schmidt’s kitchen, running her fingers over the soft sheet to warm it. Soon it would cradle yet another new infant, following its brothers and sisters into a loving home.
True to Aunt Emma’s prediction about the full moon, Dora had gone into labor early on Saturday. Sarah and Emma had arrived at noon in answer to a summons delivered by Dora’s oldest boy, to find Dora mixing up a batch of jumble cookies with the younger children. With nothing else to do once things were prepared in the bedroom for the birth, they had joined in the baking.
Now, by midafternoon, Dora finally seemed ready to concentrate on the baby’s arrival. She obviously preferred Emma’s presence in the room to Sarah’s, so Sarah kept herself busy while Emma attended to Dora’s last stages of birth.
Foolish to mind that, she scolded herself, hand still on the bassinet. Naturally Dora would feel that way. In the meantime, her job was simply to help out—
“Sarah?” Dora’s oldest girl, Ruth, hung over the banister, her face pinched. “Mammi says komm schnell. Komm!”
Her breath catching, Sarah hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom. Dora, on all fours on the bed, was pushing, her husband’s hand covering hers. He looked as intent as she did. And Emma . . .
Emma should have been standing ready to ease the baby’s passage into the world. Instead she sat on the edge of the bed, frowning a little as if wondering what she was doing there.
A fist seemed to clutch Sarah’s heart. Something was wrong—something was very wrong with Emma.
But Dora’s baby was crowning. First things first. She must focus on that. Gently she moved Aunt Emma to the rocking chair. Emma sat, docile as a child, her hands limp in her lap.
“Sarah,” Dora gasped her name, eyes wide. “Emma, she—” Another contraction seized her, cutting off the words.
“Everything is all right. We’ll take care of my aunt. Don’t fret, now. This little one is almost ready to be in your arms.” She bent over, her touch gentle. “The head is right here. Another push or two should do it.”
“They always pop right out,” Dora gasped. “This one, too.”
“Sure will,” she soothed, massaging to ease the passage of the baby’s head. And indeed, Dora knew what she was talking about. One more push, and the baby slipped into Sarah’s waiting hands.
“A fine big girl,” she said over the wails of the newborn. She suctioned the baby’s mouth quickly and wrapped her in the warm blanket that lay ready. “Ach, look how beautiful she is.”
For one precious moment she held new life in her arms, cherishing the soft bundle, hating to let go. This was why she was a midwife—this indescribable moment of seeing a child into the world.
She put the babe into Dora’s waiting arms. Love and wonder transformed Dora’s features, wiping away the fatigue. Eli bent close, his eyes wet with tears as he touched his daughter’s tiny waving hand. Neither of them would even notice anything else for a while.
Dora put the baby to breast with the ease of long practice, and the infant latched on instantly. Dora obviously wouldn’t need any coaching to breastfeed.
Another contraction, and the afterbirth was out. Sarah checked to be sure there was no tearing and went through the rest of the routine smoothly, talking as if nothing were wrong. But each time she looked at Aunt Emma, the puzzled expression was still on Emma’s face.
Please, dear Father, help her. Show me what to do. She fought the trickle of panic.
Young Ruth turned into an efficient helper as soon as she knew her mother and the baby were all right. Together she and Sarah made Dora comfortable and changed the bedclothes, and Ruth brought the warm bassinet to put next to the bed.
“Your aunt . . .” The girl gave Emma a sidelong glance. “Is she all right?”
“She will be.” Please, God. “I must get her to the doctor as soon as we have your mammi settled.”
Eli, overhearing, nodded. “I’ve sent Daniel to call for someone to drive you already. We’ll be fine. My sister will be here soon to help.”
“Gut. Denke.”
He shook his head. “Thank the gut Lord you were here, too. We will pray for Emma.”
Sarah would be praying, as well. She went to her aunt, wrapping a shawl gently around her. “Aunt Emma?”
Her aunt blinked a little, still frowning. Then recognition seemed to come back into her face. “Dora. The baby.” She started to rise, but Sarah eased her back into the chair.
“It’s all right. Dora and the baby are fine. A little girl.”
“Gut, gut.” Emma pressed her hand against her forehead. “I don’t seem to remember. I feel all ferhoodled.”
“I know.” Sarah put her arm around her aunt’s shoulders, trying to infuse her with warmth and strength. “We’re going to see the doctor. We’ll find out what the problem is.”
Emma pulled away from her, some of the spirit coming back into her face. “I think I can decide for myself if I want to see a doctor.”
The words bore an odd echo of Molly, saying that she would decide for herself how her baby was to be born. Molly was entering a new phase in her life, just as it seemed Aunt Emma was leaving one.
“Aunt Emma.” Sarah knelt by the chair, taking both her aunt’s hands in hers, holding her gaze by the force of will. “You seemed to black out right when Dora’s baby was coming. If I hadn’t been here, there’d have been no one to catch her.”
“I don’t—”
Sarah tightened her grip. “People depend on you, Aunt Emma. You can’t let them down
. You must let the doctor help you to be well again.”
For a moment Emma held out. And then the lost look returned to her face. “Will I?”
Sarah took a shaky breath, knowing she couldn’t promise. “I hope so. I pray so.”
“What is taking them so long?” Aunt Emma plucked fretfully at the sheet covering her, twisting restlessly on the narrow bed in the emergency room cubicle. “They could have run the tests three times again already.”
“I’m sure it won’t be long.” Sarah patted her aunt’s hand, trying to keep her own worry out of her voice.
Aunt Emma stiffened, pulling away as she drew the sheet up to her chin. “It has already been too long. I told you I didn’t need to come here. Get me my clothes.”
“You don’t want to leave before you’ve heard what the doctor has to say.” Her aunt might sound angry, but Sarah knew only too well what the querulous tone concealed. Not anger. Fear.
The same fear edged along Sarah’s nerves. She’d suspected, from the doctor’s questions and his initial exam, what the trouble was. When he’d ordered a CAT scan and a blood-flow ultrasound, she’d been sure of what he suspected, at least.
Aunt Emma grabbed Sarah’s hand with a bewildering switch of mood. “What is wrong with me, Sarah? Tell me.”
She knew better than to answer that question. Besides, Aunt Emma had probably already figured it out but was loath to say the word. “We must wait for the test results, Aunt Emma. Just be a little patient . . .”
The curtain twitched, was jerked aside. But it wasn’t the doctor she’d hoped to see. Instead her cousin Jonas surged inside, followed by his wife, Mary. “What is happening here? Mammi, are you all right? Why didn’t you reach us sooner?”
This last was directed at Sarah, accompanied by an angry glare. She didn’t blame him for his anger any more than she blamed his mother. They were both afraid.
“Ach, Jonas, don’t be foolish.” Mary slipped past him, giving Sarah a quick smile as she bent to press her cheek against Emma’s. “How can anyone answer all those questions at once?” She held her mother-in-law’s hand for a moment. “How are you?”