The Amish Midwife's Courtship. Cheryl Williford

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ insistent ring of another late-night caller. She sat up in bed and stretched toward the tiny cell phone approved by her bishop for midwife work. Her fingers searched the bedside table, hurrying to stop the cell phone’s ring before it woke the whole house.

      “Ya. This is Molly.” She pushed back her sheet, put her feet on the cool floor and rose. “Are you timing the contractions, Ralf?” She laughed, reaching for the dress she kept hanging for nights like this. “Ya, I guess you’re right. Six kids are plenty of practice. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

      She slipped on her simple work dress and work apron, then slid the phone into her medical case. She brushed back her tangled hair with fast strokes and then pinned it up in a tight bun before adding her kapp.

      There was reason to hurry. Bretta, her friend since school, gave birth faster each time she had another child, and this birth would make number seven. There was no time for much more than a quick brush of her teeth, and she’d better be out the door.

      She scurried down the hall, past Isaac’s door. Did his bump still hurt. She had no cause for guilt, but she still felt at fault every time she looked at the goose egg on his forehead. Grabbing her medical bag, she pulled open the back door, ran to her cart and shoved in the key. In light drizzle she pumped the gas pedal. The golf-cart engine sputtered and coughed. Oh, no. Not now. She’d never make it in time if she had to run all the way to Bretta’s house.

      Isaac repaired engines and fixed bikes, didn’t he? He would know what to do.

      Molly raced through the clapboard house and down the narrow hall. She tapped lightly on Isaac’s door and then began to bang harder. Time passed. Time she didn’t have. “Isaac. Are you awake? Isaac?”

      A sound of something falling came from the room.

      “Is the house burning?” Isaac asked through the closed door.

      Molly pressed her cheek to the cool wood. “No, of course it’s not.”

      “Then go away.”

      Persistence was called for. She banged again. “I need your help, Isaac. Please.”

      The door cracked open an inch.

      She couldn’t see much of his face, but she could hear his heavy breathing. Had he fallen again? “I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s an emergency. My cart won’t start.”

      His door opened a bit more. She could barely make out his form in the dark hallway. “What kind of emergency? Is your mamm hurt?”

      Molly groaned. “No. Not Mamm. It’s Bretta. She’s in labor.” She heard him yawn.

      “Who’s Bretta?”

      “There is no time for foolish chatter. I need you to help me get the cart started.”

      “Outen the lights before you try to start the engine. Your battery is probably as old as the cart.”

      “I tried that, Isaac. All I got was a sputter for my efforts.”

      She could see him run his fingers through his hair in the gloom. “And tell me why you are going out in the dark, to this woman Bretta at this hour? Is she your sister?”

      “Nee, not my sister. My patient.”

      “I didn’t know you were a doctor.” He cleared his throat and coughed, his voice raspy.

      “She’s in labor. I’m her midwife. Please, Isaac. I don’t have time for all these questions. I need your help now. If you’re not inclined to help, just tell me. I’ll call Mose.”

      “This Mose? Is he someone you’re courting?”

      Molly had no patience for all this nix nootzing. “Look. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to bed.” She rushed down the hall and back out the kitchen door. Where was a hero when a girl needed one? The term hero certainly didn’t apply to the impressive Herr Isaac Graber. All looks and no charm.

      Flipping on the outside light, Molly rushed over to the cart, intending to give it one last chance before running the six long blocks to Bretta’s home.

      She listened to the sluggish effort of the engine and groaned.

      “Do you have gas in this lump of rust?” Isaac appeared out of the shadows and leaned on the cart, one crutch under his arm. He breathed hard and fast.

      “Gas?” Had she remembered to fill the tank after their outing to the bike shop? Nee. She turned the key, looked at the tank’s gauge. Empty. What a bensel she was. No gas and a mamm-to-be waiting. Worse still, Isaac grinned like he knew what a bensel she was. “I forgot to fill the tank. What am I going to do? I have no choice but to run all the way, or disturb Mose.”

      “Stop panicking and listen. Does your mamm keep gas around for the lawn mower?”

      “I don’t know. Our neighbor, Herr Zucker, cuts the grass, but he does use our mower.” Molly headed for the shed just inside the fenced backyard. She pulled a long string on the wall. Light pooled a golden glow around her. She lifted a gas can off the metal shelf, shook it and then ran back to the cart.

      Isaac stood barefoot next to the cart, his pajama bottoms soaking up the dampness from the grass underfoot. He had the cart’s gas cap in his hand.

      She avoided looking directly at him and poured the gas in the cart’s tank. Isaac screwed on the cap and then surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look like any midwife I’ve ever seen.”

      “And how many have you seen?” Molly asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.

      He scratched his head and yawned wide. “Only you.”

      She started the sluggish engine and began to slowly back up. “Thank you so much, Isaac.”

      “I didn’t do anything. Just took off the gas cap and put it back on.” He started walking toward the back door, his one crutch taking all his weight.

      “You saved the day and you know it,” she called over her shoulder and drove off into the night, her medical bag bouncing in the basket.

      Glancing back, she watched the glow from the house light turn Isaac into a dark shadow as he slipped into the back door, his shoulders stooped. Why did the man have such a hard time accepting compliments? Didn’t he realize how important it was to have a midwife arrive before the baby? She smiled as she drove on into the darkness. Whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, he was her hero tonight, and she’d show him her appreciation somehow.

      * * *

      “Food’s up.”

      Molly scrubbed the last of the dried egg yolk off the table and headed toward the kitchen’s service window. Each step was painful. The new shoes she’d bought on sale tested her patience. She couldn’t wait to get home, take them off and soak her feet in a hot tub of shiny, fragrant bubbles.

      Willa Mae, the owner of the popular cafe since Hurricane Katrina had displaced her, stuck a sprig of parsley on the edge of the plate of steaming home fries and perfect over-easy eggs. She pushed it toward Molly. “Table six, and make it snappy. He seems in a hurry.”

      Putting СКАЧАТЬ