Abigail's New Hope (2 page)

At thirty, Abigail Graber was an experienced midwife, having assisted the local physician or nurse-midwife in hundreds of deliveries. She’d received training and apprenticed with a nurse-midwife for several years, but she’d never set foot in college because she was Amish like her patients. And though her time-honored vocation allowed Abigail to witness the miracle of creation firsthand, even without advanced education she understood how quickly things could go wrong for either mother or child.

Ohio and Pennsylvania, the two states with the highest population of Amish families, didn’t license midwives who weren’t registered nurses under current guidelines. Therefore, Abby’s duties generally involved preparing the mother—and the father—for the baby’s arrival. She would give the women back massages to loosen tight muscles or have them soak in warm tubs to speed the delivery. Because their rural doctor refused to sit around people’s kitchens waiting for babies to be born, Abigail would monitor the mother’s contractions to keep him informed. Abby loved the waiting time while fathers debated possible names and mothers crocheted last-minute socks. Dr. Weller would usually arrive just in time to deliver the infant, and then he returned to his office patients or his own warm bed. Abby would remain to wash the new mother, bathe the infant in the kitchen sink, and finish the paperwork at the table. She never left a home until the newborn was comfortably nursing at the mother’s breast.

Home births were solely for healthy women with low-risk pregnancies and not for women with diabetes, high blood pressure, heart disease, or if a previous birth had been difficult. Patients were to receive regular prenatal care in the doctor’s office to monitor their medical condition and the baby’s development. For that reason, Abby knew none of the doctor’s patients was due any time soon. But, as Daniel aptly pointed out, babies didn’t listen very well.

And God often had other plans when a woman grew too comfortable, too placid in the sheer flawlessness of her life. On that June evening, as her own two healthy children scrambled up the steps to bed, their feet surprisingly clean, Abby almost felt smug in her contentment. She rocked in the porch swing, sipping tea and contemplating the planet Venus as it sat low and bright on the horizon.

The ring of her cell phone jarred her senses. “Hello. Graber residence.”

“Abigail Graber?” asked an unfamiliar voice. “This is Nathan Fisher. Ruth and I rented the Levi Yoder place here in Shreve after the elder Mr. Yoder passed on. I’m calling you from the neighbor’s house.”

Silence ensued as Abby wracked her brain. Fisher was a very common name, but she didn’t recall meeting someone named Ruth Fisher in Dr. Weller’s office. “What can I do for you, Mr. Fisher?” She finished her tea in one long swallow.

“My wife wants you to come see her. She said that I should call you and nobody else. She got your number from one of the gals in our district.”

Abby frowned, feeling annoyance take hold. Her Plain brethren maintained the old-fashioned habit of never referring to a pregnancy directly, as though babies arrived under blessed but unknown circumstances. “I take it your wife is expecting a
boppli
? She needs to contact the doctor’s office for an appointment and then be examined by him before—”

“No, you need to come over right now. She’s crying out and is in a lot of pain.”

Abby’s annoyance changed to fear. “Are you saying your wife is in labor right
now
?” She tried unsuccessfully to keep her voice calm as she paced the porch. No sense in waking the rest of the family. Her
kinner
had probably just fallen asleep.

“
Jah
, she is.” His three succinct words conveyed none of the same apprehension that tightened her stomach into a knot.

“Who has she been seeing? Who is her doctor?”

“Nobody. She saw a lady doctor back in Indiana, but then we moved here so I could find work. She heard at preaching service that the doctor who makes house calls in these parts was a man.” Nathan Fisher stated these facts conversationally.

Abby’s knuckles went white from gripping the porch rail. “There are plenty of
lady
doctors at the clinic in Wooster, plus they have a van that would pick your wife up and bring her home afterward for a nominal charge.” Daniel slipped out the door behind her and put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

“I’ll debate what my wife should or shouldn’t have done with you another day, Mrs. Graber, but right now she is having a baby.”

Despite the joyous connotation those last five words usually contained, Abby’s gut clenched with dread. “I want you to call an ambulance, Mr. Fisher. Or, if you prefer, I’d be happy to call one for you.”

“My wife said she won’t go to a hospital, so don’t call any ambulance.” His tone brooked no further discussion on the matter. “If you don’t want to help us, then don’t come. But you have no right telling us our business.”

Abby breathed in and out several times as though she were in labor, but it took her no time whatsoever to make up her mind. “Give me your address and specific directions on how to find your house.” She stumbled back inside the kitchen for pencil and paper. Despite having lived in Wayne County her entire life, she didn’t know the whereabouts of the Levi Yoder farm.

Nathan spoke slowly while Abby scribbled notes on the pad. He recited a complete description of road landmarks to find his farm. “So you’ll come?”

“
Jah
, I’ll be there as soon as possible. Go back and tend to your wife. Do everything she tells you to do, and don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid, Mrs. Graber.” Nathan’s voice lifted with renewed excitement. “Even though this will be our first baby.
Danki
very much.” He hung up without another word.

Her first pregnancy, and she’s probably had no prenatal care
, Abby thought. She sent up a silent prayer.

“I’ll hitch up your buggy while you gather your supplies.” Daniel had followed her back into the kitchen and leaned against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t worry, Abby. It’s probably not as bad as it sounds. You know how green most first-timers are, especially if the woman doesn’t have her
mamm
and sisters living nearby to give advice.”

“It sounds as though they just moved here from Indiana.” Abby covered her face with her hands and rubbed away her sleepiness, and then she headed to the sink to wash. She would scrub her hands, arms, and under her nails for five minutes, even though she would do it again once she arrived at the Fisher home.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Daniel asked. “We could take Laura and Jake along and they can sleep in the back of the buggy.”

His question took her by surprise as she collected supplies and checked the first aid kit for things she might need. Daniel never offered to accompany her. If there was one job he considered “woman’s work,” this was it.

She emerged from the bathroom and found him where she’d left him, looking even more exhausted. He had been cutting hay that day from sunup until sundown. “Oh, no,” she said. “You go up to bed after I leave. Make sure our two little ones are under the covers and not still playing. Tomorrow morning you’ll have to get up with the chickens, but I’ll be able to sleep in.”

He flashed her a smile, and then he loped out the door to hitch up their fastest standardbred horse and attach several battery-powered lights on her open buggy. Abby changed clothes and carried out a case of bottled water along with her medical supplies.

After she climbed into the buggy, Daniel gave her a quick good night kiss and then sent her off with his usual jest. “Let’s hope it’s either a girl or a boy this time.” He slapped the mare’s hindquarter to get her moving.

Abby waved before tightening her grip on the reins. It was a silly thing to say, but Daniel’s joke never failed to bring a smile to her face.

It would be the last happy expression she would wear that night… or for many nights to come.

During the four-mile drive, she punched in the doctor’s speed dial button on her phone. Typically at ten o’clock at night his answering service would pick up. This time was no exception. “Doctor Gerald Weller’s answering service,” came a perfunctory voice after the third ring.

“Janice? This is Abigail Graber over in Shreve. I’m on my way to the Nathan Fisher residence. Mrs. Fisher is in labor. I don’t think she’s a patient of the doctor’s. At least I know I’ve never met her. She might not be a patient of anyone.” Just voicing those words sent a chill up the midwife’s back. Most of the things that can go wrong during delivery could be avoided if the medical history of the woman was known and the baby’s development had been tracked. “Apparently, they just moved here from out of state. Please ask Dr. Weller to meet me there. Tell him I’m sorry to get him up if he’s already gone to bed—”

The woman on the other end cut her short. “He’s not home, Abby. He was called down to Ashland. There was a multicar pileup on the interstate. Fortunately, no fatalities have been reported, but a tanker of chemicals overturned and dumped its contents. Ashland asked for all medical personnel in the surrounding area to treat possible respiratory distress from toxic exposure. He will be tied up in that mess at the emergency room all night. You’ll have to call the paramedics for Mrs. Fisher.”

“That’s what I plan to do.” Despite the cool evening breeze, Abby’s back began to perspire. “Their farm is in sight. Let me give you the address and directions of where I’ll be in case something changes with Dr. Weller.” She recited the exact description Nathan had provided as her mare trotted up the loose-stoned driveway.

The Levi Yoder farmstead was one of the few that didn’t conform to the usual standard of Amish orderliness, but probably not from lack of trying on the part of the young couple. After a certain number of years, paint and caulk cannot repair old, dry-rotted wood or crumbling foundations. However, she wasn’t here to take photographs for
Country Living
magazine. She had a job to do.

As the buggy rolled to a stop and she set the brake, Nathan Fisher came running from the house. He bounded down the sagging steps and grabbed her horse’s bridle. “Please go on inside. I’ll tend to your horse. My wife’s hurting real bad.”

Even before she heard the ominous words his blanched complexion terrified Abby. “Just turn my mare out into your paddock and don’t fuss with her because I might need you. And bring in the case of bottled water when you come.” She hefted her bag of supplies out of the buggy and ran to the house.

Abby set the bag on the table and punched 9-1-1 into her cell phone. When the dispatcher came on the line, she identified herself, gave the address and explicit directions, and stated that a woman in labor needed an ambulance. Her hands shook as she held the phone next to her ear. If the situation beyond the closed door turned out to be anything less than an emergency, she would take the blame for the call. The dispatcher repeated the information, stated that an ambulance was on the way, and, blessedly, allowed her to hang up instead of keeping her tied up with unnecessary details. The dispatcher offered no approximation of the estimated time of arrival. Next, Abby scrubbed her hands and arms at the sink as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

Drying her hands on a paper towel, she glanced around the Fisher kitchen. Vandals wreaking mischief or a storybook cyclone usually caused such havoc. Cupboards stood open, water had been spilled between the sink and the stove, soiled linens lay in a heap near the steps to the cellar, and someone had knocked over a box of Cheerios across the counter. Never had she seen spilled food in an Amish home that hadn’t immediately been cleaned up.

For a moment her eyes locked on the cereal with bizarre fascination. Then the piercing wail of a woman broke her paralysis, and she grabbed her bag and ran in the direction of the sobs. Inside the bedroom she found a woman in advanced stages of labor. Sweat ran down the woman’s nose and cheeks like spring rain. The room, hot and airless, held the coppery sweet scent of blood.

“I’m the midwife, Abigail Graber. What’s your given name, Mrs. Fisher?” she asked, trying to engage the woman in conversation.