A Simple Charity (5 page)

Well, maybe that was some consolation.

The road was a dark ribbon cutting through fields and looping up and down hills. All the planning in the world couldn’t account for the barriers that fell in a person’s path; Meg was learning that lesson in spades. She held on to the vinyl seat and prayed for a positive outcome.

The buggy moved quickly to the outer edge of Halfway, zipped by a cornfield, then turned into a lane that led to simple clapboard
houses. Joe pulled up in front of a plain white house with yellow and red pansies providing bright bursts of color along the front porch. Joe halted the horse, and Meg quickly jumped to the ground. She grabbed one case and told Joe to bring the other as she moved briskly along the path. Even before Meg reached the porch, an Amish woman appeared at the screen door.

“Please, kumm.”

“You’re Fanny?” Meg put her equipment down inside the door and followed the woman down a narrow hall. She kept her voice level, knowing that loud voices or whispers could aggravate a laboring woman. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Fanny knew the basics, and she had accurately recognized the signs of fetal distress.

As Fanny filled her in, Meg washed her hands and tugged on latex gloves. At the bedside, she leaned in close to make eye contact with the patient. “Lizzy? My name is Meg and I’m here to help you deliver your baby.”

There was puffiness around Lizzy’s golden eyes, but it was clear that she understood. A quick exam revealed that she was fully dilated and already pushing.

“Every time she pushes, the baby’s heartbeat goes down,” Fanny explained, even before Meg could attach the fetal heart monitor from her bag.

“The cord might be wrapped around the baby,” Meg said, shifting into midwife mode. She handed her cell phone to Joe and asked him to get an ambulance here. She could see that the labor was too far progressed to get Lizzy to a hospital, but the crew would have special equipment to aspirate fluid and meconium from the baby’s bronchial passages. Meg had learned the hard way, from that terrible winter night, that an ambulance can save a life.

In the meantime, Meg had to help this young woman have her baby, now.

She slipped a mask on Lizzy’s face and started the oxygen flow as another contraction began. Fanny held Lizzy’s shoulders as she pushed, and the baby’s head crowned, but then receded as the contraction ended. Fanny was right; the contraction had made the baby’s heart rate dip dangerously low.

Meg warned Lizzy, then reached in to check for a tangled cord. The baby’s head was right there, firm as a sweet potato. Easing her fingers along the head, Meg found it—the umbilical cord looped around the baby’s neck. Straining, she worked to pull the rubbery cord of flesh over the head just as another contraction began.

This time, when Lizzy pushed, the baby’s head slid into Meg’s palm. Coated with slick meconium, the baby looked more like a rough sculpture. Meg had Fanny hand her the suctioning tool. The Amish woman was intuitive—a great help at a time like this.

“We want to get as much of this muck out as we can before the baby starts breathing,” Meg said as she suctioned the baby’s mouth, filling the portable container with brown sludge. When Meg pushed the suction tube into the tiny nostrils, the infant wrinkled its face and tried to turn its head away.

“Oh, so you don’t like that?” Meg let out a laugh, delighted by such a healthy reaction. “Your baby is a feisty one.” Then she continued sucking on the mouthpiece until the nostrils were clear.

“Okay, Lizzy.” Meg looked up at the weary faces of the Amish couple. “One more big push and your baby will be here.”

With one solid push, the rest of the baby slid out, so fast that Meg was grateful to have the bed beneath her arms. “It’s a boy, and a slippery little thing, too!”

“Such a long cord,” Fanny observed as Meg unwrapped the tangled cord from the baby’s chest and shoulders.

Meg agreed. “No wonder it was tangled.”

As the couple exchanged words of delight, Meg clamped and cut the cord, and Fanny whisked the infant away in blankets she had
warmed in the stove. “Don’t clean him up yet,” Meg told Fanny, explaining to the three of them that rubbing stimulated breathing, and they wanted to keep the baby’s respirations shallow until the paramedics were able to check his lungs and bronchial passages. She emphasized these instructions to Fanny, realizing that the Amish woman would be the one to explain the situation to the paramedics. For her own sake, Meg knew she’d best lam out of here before any medical officials arrived. With a case pending against her and her license at risk, she knew it would not look good to be delivering a baby.

Tending to Lizzy and the afterbirth, Meg listened to Joe’s suggestion of names, Fanny’s cooing, and the indignant cries of the baby, who certainly seemed to have clear lungs despite the meconium.

“He’s determined to holler,” Fanny told Meg.

“I’m not worried about that. His lungs sound healthy to me.” Meg spared the infant a glance and smiled.

A healthy baby had been born at her hands today.

Baby number 233.

She had worried that it might never happen again, and just when she’d been about to give up, an Amish stranger had come riding up the road to the inn.

Out in the main room, the mood was jubilant. Lizzy rested on the sofa, her face lit with delight as Fanny placed the baby boy in her arms. Leaning in behind his wife, Joe spoke to the baby, who turned toward his father’s voice, dark eyes alert.

“Ya, that’s your dat, little one,” Lizzy said, looking fondly from her son to her husband. “What shall we call you? What do you think, Joe?”

“I think Gott has blessed us with a good son.”

“I meant about his name,” Lizzy said, and they laughed together as Fanny teased them about not being prepared.

The sight of the happy couple with the baby in their arms brought tears to Meg’s eyes. After delivering more than two hundred babies, she was still in awe of the miracle of birth. She had always thought she was meant to help women deliver their babies at home, but the case against her shattered those plans and dreams. She had thought she was at the end of a road, but in fact, she’d been waiting at a crossroads.

Meg smiled as she packed up her equipment. The tension that had gripped her had drained away, leaving a bubbly, giddy feeling of jubilation. She knew she should call her sister to come get her. She had to get out of here. But the desire to stay and bask in the glow of a new life was irresistible.

As she closed up her case, she saw that Fanny had done a thorough cleanup in the bedroom; the bed was covered with fresh sheets and a quilt, and the plastic sheets were out of sight. Fanny appeared at the bedroom doorway.

“Meg, do you want a sandwich or some lemonade?”

“No, thanks. I was just thinking that you do excellent work,” she told Fanny.

“Oh, it’s nothing, and it brings me so much joy to be nearby when a baby is born. Every new baby is like a new sunrise, bright and so hopeful.”

“That’s a beautiful image—a new sunrise.” Meg patted Fanny’s shoulder. “You were a big help. Thank you.”

“I just do what I can. It was a good thing that you came when you did.”

Meg lugged her equipment out to the living room, where the couple now sat together on the sofa. Lizzy was singing softly to the newborn, and Joe held another baby, with the formed features and alertness of a six- to eight-month-old. With a beautiful shock of
dark hair, pale, chubby cheeks, and a gummy smile, this baby was fully engaged with the world around him.

“And who are you?” Meg asked.

“This is Tommy, Fanny’s little one. He slept through everything.”

“You’re a happy guy,” Meg teased.

Joe jumped up, cradling Tommy in one arm. “Let me carry that out for you. I’ll take you back to the inn.”

“No need to do that. My sister will come for me,” Meg said. She didn’t want to tear Joe away from his newborn baby.

“It’s no trouble, after all you did for us. Fanny said you were sent from Gott, and she’s right.”

“God does work in mysterious ways. But I can get home on my own. Sit. Enjoy your new family.”

“If you’re sure, then I’m happy to stay a bit with Lizzy and John.” A wide grin lit his face as he deposited her case near the door and looked fondly toward his new son. “That’s his name.”

“John is a good, strong name.”

Just then Fanny came in bearing a tray of food. There was a large bowl of cornflakes topped with icy purple gobs—a concoction of frozen grape juice, popular among the Amish. The plate held a sandwich stuffed so fat, the top slice of bread was teetering off to the side. “There you go,” she said, setting the tray on the table. She took her son from Joe and kissed his fat cheeks, cajoling him in Pennsylvania Dutch. Despite the stern appearance of the Amish to the outside world, these folks had much love and affection for their children.

“It all looks good, Fanny.” Dimples appeared when Lizzy smiled over the tray of food. “I’m so hungry, I think I could eat a hundred sandwiches.” Lizzy nodded to Meg. “Do you want to hold him before you go? We sure do appreciate everything you did for us, bringing us our baby, safe and sound.”

“I’m glad it all worked out.” Tears stung Meg’s eyes as she leaned down and took the small bundle into her arms. “Hey, little man.
You certainly came into the world with a roar.” The mottled baby writhed and turned his head, alert and healthy.
Thank you, Lord, for this bright new life
.

With so many feelings welling up inside her—relief and joy, pride and fear—Meg knew she had better hand the baby off before she started bawling all over him.

Thankfully, Joe, ever the proud father, swept him out of her arms when the sound of trucks rumbled outside on the street. “Kumm, John. The rescue squad is here to see you.”

Meg swiped at her eyes as she turned to face the front window. The paramedics had arrived, and here she was, on the scene with all her equipment. She looked toward the kitchen, wondering if she should try to slip out the side door, but what would she do outside, hide in the carriage house? She had no car, no way to escape without attracting attention to herself. She decided it was best that she stay. Besides, she wanted to make sure the medical team understood the baby’s needs. But just before Joe opened the door, she wheeled the oxygen tank out of sight behind the sofa. No need to leave the evidence of her involvement out in plain sight.

Two of the volunteers on Halfway’s fire and rescue squad were Amish, and Joe was so pleased at the prospect of showing them his son that it was hard to wrest the infant away for the respiratory check. Meg worked with one of the paramedics, an older man named Scott, who proved to be experienced with newborn care. He quickly maneuvered a thin, flexible tube into the baby’s bronchi—and got nothing.

“Clear as a whistle,” Scott said. The minute he removed the tubing, John let out a wail of protest.

“I don’t blame you one bit,” Meg told the baby, “but it had to be done.”

“Time to clean him up?” Fanny lifted the baby from the stretcher and carried him off. “Oh, ya. We’ll get you clean in no time.”

Tension drained from Meg as she watched them disappear down the hall. It had been a nightmarish delivery, but everything was fine now. A healthy baby and mother. Why, then, did she want to cry?

The medical team said their good-byes and packed up, their booming voices, heavy boots, and intrusive equipment receding. The invasion was over but for one uniformed man—a cop. In the excitement, Meg had not even noticed that a police officer was here.

He was a tall man with a calm demeanor and steely gray eyes. “You’ve made my day, and my shift just started. Congratulations, folks.” He had a warm smile for Lizzy and Joe. “Your first baby, right?”

“Ya,” Joe said. “A boy, and we named him John. Do you want some lemonade, Jack?”

“That’d be great. Looks like another hot day,” the deputy said.

Why was he sticking around? It was clear that he knew Joe, but they wouldn’t be close friends. Was this cop planning to question Meg’s involvement?

As Joe went into the kitchen for drinks, the officer turned to Meg. “I don’t think we’ve met. Jack Woods.”

“Meg.” She made a conscious choice not to give her last name.

“You’re a friend of Lizzy and Market Joe?” His silver eyes were earnest and his tone so friendly that Meg didn’t want to lie to him.

“She’s a midwife,” Lizzy said, pausing with her spoon in the air. “Meg helped bring our baby.”

“Well …” Meg stammered. “I was asked to help at the last minute. I did what I could.”

“I thought I knew all the midwives in the area. Let’s see, there’s Anna Beiler and Fanny here …”

“I’m just visiting,” Meg said. “Helping my sister out at the Halfway to Heaven Bed and Breakfast. Do you know Tate and Zoey Jordan?”

“Sure. Tate’s becoming a regular at the hardware store in town, and Zoey, she’s like a walking, talking chamber of commerce.”

“That’s my big sister. We used to say, ‘Telephone, tell-a-zoey,’ ” Meg said, warming to his friendly manner. In another place and time, she would have enjoyed a conversation with Jack Woods. Despite his size, he had a gentle manner that suggested protection and calm, a smile that said everything would be all right. “So you’re part of Halfway’s extended family,” Jack told her.