The Doctor's Blessing

by Patricia Davids

  Grinning, Katie nodded. “Ja, until then.”

  Amber paid her bill and headed for the door. Being a wife and mother was something she’d always wanted, but it hadn’t come her way.

  Not that it was too late. She was only twenty-nine. So what if most of her Amish clients that age already had three or four children? Meeting an eligible man who wasn’t Amish was as likely as finding hen’s teeth in Hope Springs.

  As she opened the door, Amber saw Phillip coming out of the hardware store across the street. He caught sight of her at the same moment. She either had to be civil or pretend she was in a hurry and rush away. Tough choice.

  Phillip halted at the sight of Amber framed in the doorway of the Shoofly Pie Café, an unappetizing name if he’d ever heard one. Once again he was struck by how lovely she was. Today she wore a simple yellow dress with short sleeves. Her hair hung over her shoulder in a single braid that reached her waist. Now he knew how long it was. Obviously, she hadn’t cut it in many years. It was a nice touch of old-fashioned feminine charm.

  They stood staring at each other for several long seconds until a man with a thick black beard and a straw hat stopped in front of Phillip. Realizing he was blocking the door, Phillip stepped out of the way. By the time he looked back, Amber was on her way down the sidewalk heading toward the clinic. He sprinted after her, cutting between two buggies rolling down the avenue.

  He and Amber had both been doing their jobs at the clinic, but it didn’t take a genius to see she was still upset. Her icy stares and monosyllablic replies weren’t going unnoticed by their patients. Somehow he had to find a way to break through her anger. Phillip couldn’t handle the practice by himself. There was more to medicine than treating symptoms.

  Good medicine had physical, emotional and spiritual components. Amber had what he didn’t yet have in Hope Springs. A familiarity with the people he would be treating and knowledge of the inner workings of the town.

  He needed to reach some kind of common ground with her if she could get past his stance on home deliveries. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed her help to keep his grandfather’s clinic running smoothly.

  Besides, the last thing he wanted was to tell Harold that he’d driven away the irreplaceable Miss Bradley. During their brief phone conversation last night, Harold once again sang her many praises. If Phillip didn’t know better, he might have thought the old man was playing matchmaker.

  After crossing the street at a jog, Phillip reached Amber’s side and shortened his stride to match hers. “Morning, Miss Bradley.”

  “Good morning, Doctor.”

  “Are you on your way to the office?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at his watch. “You’re a little early, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  In spite of the warm summer sun there was no sign of thawing on her part. He said, “We didn’t see many patients yesterday. Can I expect our patient load to be so light every day?”

  “No.”

  This didn’t bode well for the rest of the day. “The weather has been agreeable. Are summers in Ohio always this nice?”

  “No.”

  Getting nowhere, he decided to try a different tack.

  Phillip saw an Amish family walking toward them. The man with his bushy beard nodded slightly. His wife kept her eyes averted, but their children gawked at them as they passed by. One of them, a teenage boy, was a dwarf. A group of several young men in straw hats and Amish clothing walked behind the group. None of the younger men wore beards.

  When they were out of earshot, Phillip asked, “Why is it that only some Amish men have beards?”

  He waited patiently for her answer. They passed two more shops before she obliged him. “An Amish man grows a beard when he marries.”

  “Okay, why don’t they have mustaches?”

  “Mustaches were associated with the military in Europe before the Amish immigrated to this country so they are forbidden.”

  “From what I understand, a lot of things are forbidden…TV, ordinary clothes, a car.”

  She shot him a sour look and kept walking.

  That was dumb. Criticizing the Amish wasn’t the way to mend fences. “Sorry, that was a stupid remark. Guess I’m nervous.”

  She kept walking, ignoring his bait. Either she had great patience, grim determination or a total lack of curiosity about him.

  He gave in first. “I’m nervous because I know you’re upset with me.”

  “Ya think?” She didn’t slow down.

  Spreading his hands wide, he waved them side to side. “I’m getting that vibe. People say I’m sensitive that way.”

  Had he coaxed a hint of a smile? She looked down before he could be sure.

  “Amber, we’ve gotten off to a bad start. I know you must blame me for Harold’s injuries. I blame myself.”

  She stopped abruptly. A puzzled frown settled between her alluring eyes. “Why would I blame you for Harold’s accident?”

  Chapter Four

  Stunned by Amber’s question, Phillip could only stare. She didn’t know? How was that possible? More to the point, once she found out would it kill any chance of a better working relationship? He had opened a can of worms and didn’t know how to shut it. She was waiting for his answer.

  “Harold hasn’t told you how the accident happened?” Phillip cringed at the memory.

  “He said he foolishly stepped into the path of an oncoming car.”

  Phillip stiffened his spine, bracing for the worst possible reaction from Amber. “I was driving that car.”

  When the silence lengthened, he expected an angry or horror-filled outburst. He didn’t expect the compassion that slowly filled her eyes.

  Encouraged, he forged ahead. “It was the last night of his visit. We’d had an argument. I dropped him off at his hotel. I was angry and waiting impatiently for a chance to pull out into the heavy traffic. When a break came, I gunned it.”

  He’d never forgive himself for what happened next. “I should have been paying more attention. I should have seen him, but he rushed out from between two parked cars right in front of me. I couldn’t stop.”

  She laid her hand on his arm. “That must have been terrible for you.”

  “I thought I killed him.” Phillip relived that terrifying moment, that horrific sound, every time he closed his eyes.

  Quietly, Amber said, “Thank you for telling me. I can understand how hard it was for you. I want you to know I don’t blame you. An accident is an accident. Things happen for a reason only God knows.”

  Phillip’s pent-up guilt seeped out of his bones, leaving him light-headed with relief. “Now, can we work together without those frosty silences between us?”

  He knew he’d made a mistake when her look of compassion changed to annoyance. “I don’t blame you for what happened in Hawaii. I do blame you for making me feel marginalized and ridiculed for my career choice. For brushing aside my years of training and my skills as if they were nothing. I’m proud to be a nurse-midwife.”

  Taken aback, he snapped, “Wait a minute. I did not ridicule you. I stated my opinion about home childbirth. An opinion that is shared by the American Medical Association, as I’m sure you know.”

  “And so far, not upheld by the courts, as I’m sure you know. Childbirth is not a medical condition. It is a normal, natural part of life.” She started walking again.

  Catching up with her, he said, “But it can become a medical emergency in a matter of minutes. I’m sorry we can’t agree on this. However, if we’re going to be working together we need to agree on some other important issues.”

  She shot him an exasperated look. “Such as?”

  “That my grandfather’s practice is important to him. Both you and I are important to him. He wouldn’t want us at odds with each other.”

  He detected a softening in her rigid posture. Finally, she admitted, “That’s true.”

  “Right. We can also agree that the clinic needs to run smoo
thly, that I don’t know where to buy groceries in Hope Springs and I haven’t found a barbershop. Can you help a guy out?”

  She did smile at that. “The grocery store is at the corner of Plum and Maple. Take a left at the next block and go three blocks east. The barbershop backs up to our building. Go through the alley to Vine Street. It’ll be on your left. And yes, the clinic needs to run smoothly. Our patients deserve our best.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  It was grudgingly given, but he’d won a small victory. “I also don’t know what labs Mrs. Nissley had done. I couldn’t find her chart.”

  “I was checking her hemoglobin A1c. She’s a diabetic. Ask Wilma for any charts you can’t find. She has her own system of filing because so many of our patients have the same names.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Most Amish are descendants of a small group who came to this country in the seventeen hundreds. It is forbidden to marry outside of their faith so very few new names have come into the mix.”

  By now they had reached the clinic. He held open the door and she went in ahead of him. To his surprise he saw they already had a waiting room full of people. Word was getting around that there was a new doctor in town.

  It seemed that more one-on-one time with Amber would have to wait. He should have walked more slowly.

  She leaned over and said quietly, “Something you should know. The Amish don’t run to the doctor for every little thing. They are usually quite sick when they come to us. When they find a ‘good doctor,’ they send all their family and friends to him.”

  “And if I’m not a good doctor, in their opinion?”

  “We’ll lose Amish clients very quickly and we’ll be out of business in no time. So, no pressure.”

  “Right. No pressure.”

  The day passed quickly. True to Amber’s prediction, many of the patients Phillip treated had been putting off seeing a doctor since his grandfather’s departure. Two bad cuts had become serious infections. A young mill worker with a gash on his arm and a high fever had to be sent to the hospital in Millersburg for IV antibiotics.

  After that, he saw a young Amish woman who’d come to see Amber for her prenatal visits. After he explained the current situation, his patient got up and left his exam room without a word. In the waiting room, she spoke to a second expectant mother. The two left together. Amber followed them outside and talked with them briefly.

  Was she smoothing things over or throwing gasoline on the fire?

  His next patient was a three-year-old Amish girl with a severe cough. The shy toddler was also a dwarf, and she wanted nothing to do with him. She kept pushing his stethoscope away each time he tried to listen to her chest.

  Mrs. Lapp, her worried mother, apologized. Amber moved forward to help restrain the child. “Doctor, Helen doesn’t speak English yet. She won’t learn it until she goes to school. The Amish speak Pennsylvania Deitsh at home, a German dialect.”

  Glancing up at her, he said, “I thought it was Dutch.”

  “It’s commonly called Pennsylvania Dutch but that’s an Americanization of the term Deitsh,” Amber replied.

  He said, “Don’t hold her down, it will only frighten her. What we need is a little help from Doctor Dog.”

  Reaching into a drawer on the exam table, he withdrew a hand puppet, a fuzzy brown dog with floppy ears, a white lab coat and a miniature stethoscope around his neck. Looking down at the toy, Phillip said, “Dr. Dog, I’d like you to meet Helen Lapp.”

  “Hello, Helen,” the puppet chirped in a falsetto voice as he waved one stubby arm.

  Phillip heard Amber giggle behind him. Helen sat up with a hesitant smile on her face.

  The puppet scratched his head with his paw. “What’s wrong with you, Helen? Are you sick?”

  Helen’s mother translated for her. The girl nodded, never taking her eyes off the toy.

  Swinging the puppet around to face himself, Phillip asked in his puppet voice, “Aren’t you going to make her better, Dr. White?”

  “I’m trying but Helen is afraid of me.”

  “She is?” Turning to face the little girl, Dr. Dog asked, “Are you afraid of Dr. White?”

  Her mother asked her the question in Pennsylvania Dutch. Helen glared at Phillip and nodded.

  Dr. Dog rubbed his nose. “But you aren’t scared of me, are you?”

  When her mother stopped speaking, Helen shook her head. Reaching out tentatively, she patted the dog’s head then giggled. Her laughter quickly became a harsh cough.

  Dr. Dog asked, “Can I listen to your chest?”

  Helen leaned back against her mother but didn’t object. Using Dr. Dog to grasp his stethoscope, Phillip listened to the child. When he was done with the exam, Dr. Dog thanked Helen, shook hands with her and her mother, then returned to his drawer. Helen continued to watch the drawer as if he might pop out again.

  As Phillip wrote out a prescription for Helen, Amber leaned close. “Very clever.”

  More pleased than he should have been by that simple compliment, he continued with his work. Helen had him deeply concerned.

  Turning to her mother, he handed her the prescription and said, “I hear a loud murmur in Helen’s heart, a noise that shouldn’t be there. I’d like for her to see a specialist.”

  The woman stared at the note in her hand. “Will this medicine make her better?”

  “I believe so, but she needs to see a heart doctor. I’ll have Amber make an appointment. I believe Helen’s heart condition is making her cough worse.”

  The mother nodded. Relieved, he looked to Amber. She said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  He saw several more townspeople after that with assorted coughs and colds. Then two young Amish brothers came in with poison ivy from head to toe. Their mother explained her usual home remedy had failed to help.

  He asked for her recipe and jotted it down. He then ordered a steroid shot for each of the boys. Afterward, he gave their mother a prescription for an ointment to be used twice a day, but encouraged her to continue her own treatment as well.

  When they left, Amber remained in the room.

  “Yes?” He kept writing on the chart without looking up.

  “Why didn’t you have her discontinue her home remedy? It clearly isn’t working.”

  “There was nothing in it that would interfere with the medication I prescribed. It should even give the boys some added relief. Mostly, it will make her feel better to be doing something for them.” He snapped the chart shut. “What’s next?”

  His final patient of the day turned out to be an Amish woman with a badly swollen wrist.

  Amber stood by the counter as Phillip pulled his chair up beside the young Mrs. Nissley. Her first name was Martha. She held her arm cradled across her stomach.

  Phillip said, “May I see your wrist, please?”

  Taking it gently, he palpated it, feeling for any obvious breaks. “Tell me what happened.”

  “The dog scared my Milch cow, and she kicked. She missed the dog but hit me.”

  He winced. “Sounds painful.”

  “Ja. That it is.”

  He admired her stoicism. “You’re the first cow-kick victim I’ve treated in my career. In spite of that, the only way to be certain it isn’t broken is to get an X-ray. Are you related to Edna Nissley?”

  “Which Edna Nissley?”

  He struggled to find a description since they dressed alike and seemed so similar. “She’s an older lady. Short, kind of stout. Oh, she drives a gray horse.”

  “That is my husband’s uncle’s wife. The other Edna Nissley is the wife of my husband’s cousin William. Little Edna Nissley is the daughter of my husband’s youngest brother, Daniel.”

  “Okay.” A confusing family history if he’d ever heard one. He glanced at Amber. “I’ll need AP and Lateral X-rays of the left wrist. Mrs. Nissley, is there any chance you may be pregnant?”

  “Nee. At least, I don’t think so.”r />
  He looked at Amber. “Make sure she wears a lead apron just in case.”

  “Of course.”

  Ten minutes later he had the films in hand. Putting them up on the light box, he indicated the wrist bones for his patient to see.

  “I don’t detect a break. What you have is a bad sprain and some nasty bruising. I’ll wrap it with an elastic bandage to compress the swelling. Rest it and ice it. I want you to keep the arm elevated. Is there a problem with doing any of those things?”

  “Can I milk the cow?”

  He tried not to smile. “If you can do it with one hand or with your toes.”

  She grinned. “I have children and a helpful husband.”

  “Good. Here’s a prescription for some pain medication if you need it. See me again if it isn’t better by the end of the week.”

  When Mrs. Nissley left he saw the waiting room was finally empty. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly four in the afternoon. More tired than he cared to admit, Phillip retreated to his grandfather’s office and sank gratefully into Harold’s padded, brown leather chair. If his seventy-five-year-old grandfather kept this kind of pace, he was hardier than Phillip gave him credit for.

  After only five minutes of downtime, a knock sounded at his door. Sighing, he called out, “Yes?”

  Amber poked her head in. “I have a ham sandwich. Would you like to share?”

  His stomach rumbled at the mention of food, reminding him he’d had nothing but one cup of coffee since he’d left the house that morning. “I’d love a sandwich. Thank you.”

  She entered and whisked a plate from behind her back. “I thought you might say that.”

  He took her offering and made a place for the paper dinnerware on his desk. “Why don’t you and Wilma join me?”

  “Wilma has gone home.”

  “Then will you join me?” He held his breath as he waited for her reply.

  Amber hesitated. It was one thing to work with Phillip. It was a whole other thing to share a meal with him.

  He said, “Don’t tell me you’ve never joined Harold for a late lunch.”

  “Of course I have.”