Amber walked past them, shaking her head. “You underestimate the Amish, Dr. Phillip. Word will spread and the Amish will stop coming here. They’ve resisted changes that threaten their way of life for hundreds of years. They aren’t going to make an exception for you.”
Normally shy Wilma surprised Phillip when she shook off his hand and shouted at him, “You’re trying to shut this place down, aren’t you? Is that what you want? Well, you might get it. Then see how proud Harold is of you.”
Chapter Ten
When Amber arrived at the clinic the following morning, the walkway was lined with Amish women, most of them her clients. Almost all of them had their children with them. Katie Lantz stepped forward. She held her four-month-old daughter in her arms.
Katie said, “We have come to show our support for you. Dr. White must allow you to continue your work among us. It is God’s will.”
Amber’s hopes that Phillip hadn’t arrived yet were dashed. She glanced toward the clinic and saw him staring out the window in her direction. His usual frown was back in place.
Turning to Katie, Amber reached out to touch Rachel’s little bare feet where they stuck out of her blanket. “Danki, Katie.”
Mary Yutzi, Katie’s future sister-in-law, patted her round stomach. “We know you have a good place in your heart for our babies.”
Another woman said, “You have done so much for us, Amber. We wish to give back.”
Although she didn’t know if their tactics were helping or hurting, Amber was deeply moved by their support. Tears stung her eyes. Glancing around at the women, she said, “My thanks to each of you. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
After delivering their promises of prayers and well wishes, the women left and Amber walked inside. Phillip, black coffee mug in hand, was still standing by the window.
He said, “You have a lot of friends.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Another group was waiting outside my house this morning. They gave me copies of the Pennsylvania court decision allowing their midwife to continue practicing in that state.”
“It was a huge victory for their way of life. Many hundreds of Amish showed up on the courthouse steps in support of the midwife on trial.”
“For practicing medicine without a license, I believe.”
“Yes, but the court ruled—”
He threw up his hands. “I know how the court ruled. You still claim you had nothing to do with these assemblies?”
Fisting her hands on her hips, Amber shouted, “I did not arrange this! What part of that don’t you understand?”
Shocked, he took a step back. “Isn’t this out of character for the quiet and simple Plain People?”
Crossing her arms, she reined in her anger and tried to sound reasonable. “Not really. When something threatens their teachings or way of life, they are willing to take peaceful action. When the states tried to make them send their children to high school, many were jailed for refusing to comply. They took their case all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court and won.”
Phillip took a sip of his coffee. Then without another word, he walked back to his office and shut the door.
Amber had no idea if he believed her claim or not.
By Friday afternoon, Amber knew the boycott of the clinic had become the talk of the town. Several non-Amish patients canceled their appointments to show their support of their neighbors.
None of the merchants in town wanted to upset the Amish by taking Phillip’s side. Most employed Amish men and women and many of their businesses depended on either the Amish themselves or the tourists who came to see them.
Even the mayor made a visit to Phillip asking him to reconsider. He stressed how the Amish were good for tourism and how tourism was good for the entire community. As far as Amber could see, Phillip remained unmoved.
Reluctantly, Amber admired the way he stuck to his principles in the face of so much pressure.
By late afternoon on Friday, the one patient that showed up was Gina Curtis. After taking her vital signs, Amber listened to her describe her usual recurring, traveling pains and made a few quick notes on her chart. Phillip was waiting outside the door when she left the room. She didn’t speak to him as she handed over the chart.
Still annoyed over the fact he believed she had set up the confrontation with the Amish, she tried her best to ignore him. Seating herself on the corner of Wilma’s desk, she noticed that Wilma’s long face matched her mood.
“How tight are the expenses, Wilma?”
“We’ve had very little income since Harold left. Our checking account is almost empty.”
“But the business has a reserve fund, doesn’t it?”
“Only enough to run the place for another month. You know how Harold is about his charities.”
“He’d give away the shoes off his feet.”
“And his smelly socks, too.” Wilma leaned forward. Worry set deep creases between her eyebrows. “What are we going to do?”
It was the same question that had been keeping Amber up at night. She gave Wilma the only answer she had. “We’re going to pray and we’re going to hold on until Harold gets back.”
“What if he doesn’t come back?”
“He has to. He just has to.”
Amber heard the exam room door open and stood up.
Phillip came down the hall with a look of deep concentration on his face. “I want to set up an appointment for Mrs. Curtis with a rheumatologist. Is there one Harold normally uses?”
“Dr. Abe Snider in Akron,” Amber said.
“Fine. See how soon they can get Mrs. Curtis in.”
He started to turn away but Amber wanted more of an explanation. “Why are you sending Gina to a rheumatologist?”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Because I suspect she has fibromyalgia. I think she’s been dismissed as a crackpot for years instead of getting the workup she deserves.”
Amber stared at him, aghast. “Are you insinuating your grandfather inadequately treated one of his patients? How dare you. Harold loves the people of this town. He’d do anything for them.”
Phillip stared at the chart in his hands for a long moment, then looked at her. “I’m not insinuating anything. I’m flat-out telling you. This woman has the symptoms of a real disease and she’s been left untreated. Because she complains a lot doesn’t mean she isn’t sick.”
Amber was speechless. Phillip handed her the chart. “I’ve ordered lab work, and I’m starting her on some medication for her pain.”
Turning to Wilma, he said, “I want to see Gina back in three weeks to assess if the medication helps her. Please put her on the schedule.”
With that, he walked away and left Amber staring open-mouthed behind him.
“Harold is a fine doctor,” Wilma stated emphatically. “He’s been the salvation of this town for more than thirty years.”
Still staring down the hall, Amber replied quietly, “Our only salvation is the Lord.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, Wilma. I’m going to be in my office for a while. Call me if you need anything.”
Walking down the hall, Amber paused outside the exam room door. She heard muffled voices but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Turning aside, she entered her office and sat at her computer.
For the next thirty minutes, she did an extensive search for information on fibromyalgia. After reading through the literature and surfing the Web sites, she conceded Phillip might be right.
Some of the stories from patients were heartwrenching. Many had been ignored by their physicians and made to feel like they were crazy or simply attention seekers. After proper treatment many had drastically improved lives.
Turning off her computer, Amber sat with her chin in her hand and her elbow on the desktop. Surely Harold had done a proper workup on Gina Curtis before deciding she was a hypochondriac. Amber thought back over the years the woman had been coming to the clinic and couldn�
��t recall one.
Had Harold been negligent? As hard as that was to accept, the idea stuck in Amber’s mind and couldn’t be dislodged. She idolized Harold. To know that he might have let Gina suffer all this time was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. She rose from her desk and walked down the hall to Phillip’s office.
His door was open. He was seated at the desk studying a spreadsheet on Harold’s computer and making notes. He glanced up as she entered.
Looking around, she said, “I see you’ve made some inroads in taming the disorder.”
Waving to the stack of folders on the corner of the desk, he shook his head. “I’ve still got a long way to go.”
Picking up a journal that had fallen to the floor, Amber rolled it into a tight cone. “You know Harold will complain for months that he can’t find anything.”
“Then we will be even. I can’t find anything in here now.”
She walked over and sat in the chair across from him. “Have you had an update on Martha Nissley?”
“They were able to repair the fractured spine and she has recovered some use of her legs.”
Amber chewed the corner of her lip, then asked, “Do you think Harold blew off Gina’s symptoms?”
Phillip rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. I can’t find evidence that he sent her for a workup, and Gina says she’s only seen Harold. Ignoring complaints from people with this disease is more common that you think because of the vague and changing symptoms they have.”
“So I’ve learned as I’ve been reading. I feel horrible about this.”
Leaning back in his chair, Phillip gazed at her intently. “I’m not saying you and Harold are entirely to blame. These textbooks must be more than twenty years old. Many of the journals look like they’ve never been opened. I can’t tell if he’s done any online research.”
Unrolling the journal in her hand, she stared at the cover. “He hates using the computer. He told me he’d rather have real paper in his hands. There were never enough hours in the day to catch up on his reading.”
“I’m sure there weren’t. From what I’ve seen of this practice, I can’t imagine how a seventy-five-year-old man could manage it by himself.”
Rolling his eyes, he gave her a half smile. “This week being the exception, of course. Has Harold ever tried to get a partner?”
“We had a young resident drop in last year and ask about joining us but Harold turned him down.”
“Do you know why?”
Shrugging, she said, “I assumed Harold didn’t think there was enough work for the both of them.”
“That might be true now.”
Amber gritted her teeth and decided it was best to get it out in the open. “When I said I had nothing to do with the meeting Monday, that may not have been the entire truth.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“I didn’t organize it, but I may know who did. I have a friend, an Amish woman whose baby I delivered a few months ago. She told me she thought she could help by bringing it to the attention of the Church elders.”
“And you didn’t try to dissuade her?”
“I don’t remember the exact conversation. I don’t believe I encouraged her. She may have seen it differently.”
He waved aside her confession. “What’s done is done. My intention was to keep my grandfather’s practice going in the event that he could return.” He tapped the computer screen. “It looks like I may run it into the ground instead.”
Leaning closer to see what he was pointing out, she asked, “What is that?”
“Harold’s financial records.”
“He did his financials on the computer? That’s surprising.”
“Wilma does them for him. I nearly had to threaten her with bodily harm to get the password.”
“I can imagine. Is it as bad as she says?”
“It is. Harold has taken out a large bank loan using this place as collateral.”
Amber was stunned. “Why?”
“It appears he bought a fifty-one percent interest in the Wadler Inn.”
“He owns part of the inn? He never mentioned that. I know he takes most of his meals at the café. He likes their cooking. When did he do this?”
“Five years ago.”
“Five years ago was when Mrs. Wadler’s husband died.”
“Maybe he was trying to help out an old friend’s widow. Anyway, the loan payment is what’s hurting us the most.”
Tapping the desk lightly with her journal, Amber gathered her courage and said, “I know this must sound like blackmail, but if you’d allow me to resume my deliveries it would solve a lot of problems.”
He sent her a sidelong glance. “You’re right. It does sound like blackmail.”
Her shoulders drooped. “You don’t know how important this is to them.”
There had to be some way to make him understand.
Chapter Eleven
As Phillip stared at Amber, she suddenly jumped to her feet. “We need to take a trip.”
“We do?” What was she up to now?
“Yes, we do. You need to meet someone who can tell you what being Amish really means.” There was new excitement in her voice.
“I think I already know,” he replied dryly.
“No, you don’t. You’ve been on the outside looking in. We’re going to take a drive to an Amish farm about thirty-five miles from here.”
“Won’t they shun me, too?”
“They’re not from the same church district as the Amish in this area. When I explain why we’ve come, they’ll be happy to educate you.”
“What if we get a patient in?”
“Wilma can call us and we’ll be back in forty minutes or less.”
This was a waste of time. “I don’t see what good it will do. I’m not going to change my mind.”
Crossing her arms, she gave him a challenging stare. “Okay, then why not come with me? What have you got to lose? The Plain People mean a great deal to your grandfather. Why not learn why?”
Phillip stared at her thoughtfully. What did his grandfather see in these people? Why had he chosen to remain here instead of living near Phillip and making up for thirty-four years of lost time with his only living relative?
Maybe Amber was right. Maybe it would be worthwhile to understand them better.
If his stepfather were here, Michael would be telling him to keep his heart open to God’s whispering. Perhaps this was one of those times.
“Okay. I’m game,” he admitted slowly.
Within ten minutes they were traveling northeast on a winding rural highway in Amber’s beat-up station wagon. As they left the town limits, they had to slow down for an open-topped buggy. The high-stepping horse pulling it looked like a thoroughbred trotter.
When the opportunity arose, Amber pulled out and passed the buggy. Phillip said, “That animal looks more like a race-horse than a farm horse.”
“He may have been on the track at one time. The Amish frequently buy trotters and pacers who can’t make the grade on the racetracks. They’ve already been trained to pull racing carts. It’s a short step to teaching them to pull the family buggy. The one we just passed most likely belongs to a young man of courting age. A high stepper and an open buggy are cool.”
“The Amish version of a sports car?”
“Sort of.” She smiled at him and he relaxed.
Glancing covertly at Amber as she drove, Phillip realized their on-again, off-again battle was starting to take its toll on him. He was friendless in a strange land. Amber was the one person he’d met that he wanted to count as a friend—and perhaps even something more.
They continued down the highway, slowing occasionally to follow behind a buggy or horse-drawn cart until it was safe to pass. Outside his window he saw farm after farm dotting the rolling landscape of fields and pastures. For the most part, the houses were white and the barns were red. It was easy to tell which farms belonged to the Amish. The lack of power and phone lines was
a dead giveaway.
After traveling in silence for a quarter of an hour, he turned in the seat to face her. “What should I know about the Amish?”
“Wow, there is so much it’s hard to know where to begin. They immigrated to this country, mostly from Germany and Switzerland in the seventeen hundreds to avoid religious persecution.”
“I thought they were Dutch.”
“Because their language is called Pennsylvania Dutch?”
“That might lead a person to believe they came from Holland.”
“The common explanation was that they were known as the Pennsylvania Deutsch, or ‘German,’ and that the word Deutsch morphed into Dutch over time. What they speak is a form of German.”
“You speak it, too.”
“It was spoken in my home when I was growing up.”
“Was it hard growing up in an Amish community not being Amish?”
“Not really. Like most kids I accepted my home life as normal. I knew I dressed differently than my cousins and that I went to a different school. That didn’t matter when we were playing together.”
“Makes sense.”
“Back to your history lesson. In nineteen hundred there were about five thousand Amish in America and Canada. Currently, there are over two hundred thousand. Ohio and Pennsylvania have the largest settlements. We have about three hundred seventy-five church districts among the dozen or so different types of Amish.”
Intrigued in spite of himself, Phillip asked, “What do you mean different types? Aren’t they all one religion?”
“Yes and no. They range from ultraconservative like the Swartzentrubers who live without gas, electricity or indoor plumbing and don’t even allow cushioned chairs in their homes, to the Beachy Amish. They use electricity and drive cars. However, the cars must be black. They paint the chrome bumpers black so they don’t appear ‘fancy’ or worldly.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. If you’re Amish and you must use a computer for your business and your church group doesn’t allow it, you can join a more progressive group.”
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