Sarah's Gift (19 page)

“That is the township police chief.” Anna whispered the words, moving next to Sarah.

A sign of support, that was what she meant by standing beside Sarah. No more waiting for the dreaded something to fall on her. Here it was, in the shape of a man in uniform, interrupting their Sunday.

Sarah couldn’t seem to breathe. She could only watch as the two men began moving through the crowd toward her, worshippers drawing back on either side of them, the bishop in his Sunday black suit, the police officer in his gray uniform. Two authority figures, coming for her.

They stopped in front of her.

“This is Sarah Mast,” Bishop Mose said. “You know everyone else, I think. Sarah, this is Chief Walker. He has something to say to you.”

“I’m sorry to come here on a Sunday.” The chief’s voice was a low, embarrassed rumble. “Believe me, Bishop Mose, I never would do such a thing as interrupt your worship if the district attorney hadn’t insisted on it. I guess he figured he wanted the whole community to know all at once.”

“To know what?” Sarah discovered she could speak after all.

“Dr. Mitchell has lodged a complaint against you with the district attorney, Mrs. Mast, accusing you of practicing medicine without a license by delivering babies.”

Someone around her gave a gasp. That was the only sound.

“What will happen as a result of this complaint?” The bishop’s voice was as even as if this sort of thing happened every day.

“There will be a hearing in front of a judge at the county courthouse. The judge will listen to both sides before deciding if the complaint is justified. If he decides that it is, then Mrs. Mast will be put on trial.” He paused. “I know you don’t hold with such things, Bishop Mose, but it would be best if Mrs. Mast had a lawyer to represent her. I can make arrangements about that, if you want.”

Bishop Mose nodded gravely, his white beard moving with the motion. “That is kind of you.”

“In the meantime . . .” Chief Walker held out a folded paper to Sarah. Her hand numb, she accepted it. “This is a restraining order, requiring you not to deliver any babies until this matter is settled by the court. If you break this order, you could be arrested.”

Sarah stood perfectly still, the paper stiff in her fingers. This, then, was what she’d been waiting for. She knew now what it was like. It was like a mountain of snow sliding off a roof, burying her completely, wiping her from existence.

Aaron
glanced out the kitchen window. “Look, it’s snowing,” he said, hoping to distract Molly. Ever since he’d returned from church with the news of what had happened to Sarah, she’d been unable to talk about anything else.

Molly gave a cursory glance outside. “Do you still think Sarah will stop today?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Would she? She’d said she’d come to see Molly this afternoon, but that had been before her business had come crashing down in ruins.

No, not business. Her world. He shouldn’t try to minimize it.

“Tell me again what happened.” Molly seemed unable to settle, moving from sink to table to stove and back again, as if driven by something he couldn’t understand.

He studied her, noting the flush in her cheeks. “I will tell it yet again, even though you’ve heard it three times already. But only if you will sit down and try to relax.”

“How can I relax?” That had obviously been the wrong thing to say. “I want Sarah to deliver this baby, right there in the room you built. I don’t want to go to a hospital where no one even knows me. Who knows what they might do?”

“I understand,” he said, trying to soothe her, even though the truth of it was that he didn’t understand. He led her to the rocker. “Sit down, Molly, please. You’re making me nervous.”

That got a small smile from her. “Ach, I’m not going to have this baby today, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She sat, but a cloud still hovered in her expression. “What right has this Dr. Mitchell to interfere with how I have my baby? Or the police? It’s not their baby.”

“To do him justice, I don’t think Chief Walker wanted to be there any more than we wanted to see him. It sounds like he was pushed into it.”

“Well, then—”

“Molly, Sarah can’t disobey the court’s order,” he explained for what seemed like the twentieth time. “They could put her in jail if she disobeyed.”

“Jail.” Molly’s eyes widened. “Poor Sarah. How she must feel! Aaron, you tried to comfort her, I hope.”

“Ja, of course.” Had he? Really? “But the women were doing a much better job of it than I could. Anna, Rachel, Leah, Ada . . . they were all supporting her.”

“But some people weren’t.” Molly was too sharp to be fooled by half a story.

“No one spoke out against her, if that’s what you’re imagining. But some folks did just . . . stay back. Maybe they think it’s not their problem.”

“It’s everyone’s problem,” Molly said hotly. “You told her we support her, didn’t you?”

“I . . . well, there wasn’t a chance.” His conscience pricked him at that excuse. “You can tell her yourself when you see her.” He patted her hand. “I’m sure she’ll be along soon. She’s not one to forget what she said she’d do, and she’ll know you’ll be worried.”

Somehow he didn’t doubt that at all. He’d grown to know Sarah Mast better in a little over a month than some people he’d known for a lifetime. He just hoped she’d come before Molly wore a hole in the floor, hard as she was rocking.

It couldn’t have been a half hour before he heard a buggy in the lane. He looked out the window. “Here is Sarah now.” Before Molly could move, he went to the door. “I’ll go and meet her. You sit still.”

He had little hope that Molly would stay still, but at least maybe she wouldn’t try to come outside in the cold.

Sarah was climbing down already, her black valise in her hand. He grabbed the buggy horse.

“I’ll take care of the rig. You go on in to Molly. She’s been fretting herself into a state since I got home.”

Sarah nodded. “There’s no need for her to be upset. This will work out as God intends.” She took a step toward the back door, but his outstretched hand stopped her.

She looked up at him, flakes of snow forming white stars on her black bonnet. He’d thought, in his first glimpse, that the shock and pain had disappeared from her face, but now he saw that they were still there, just hidden by the calm face Sarah presented to the world.

“I’m sorry.” Her pain seemed to grab his throat, choking the words. “I’m sorry for your trouble, Sarah.”

For a moment she looked at him, her clear eyes assessing the truth of his words. Then she acknowledged them with a small nod and turned away, going on into the house.

Had she believed him? Did he even believe himself? The doubts were like whirling snowflakes in his mind as he led the horse to the hitching rail.

He was sorry, of course. Sorry for the pain this caused her. But would he be sorry if she had to stop practicing? He didn’t know the answer.

By the time he reached the kitchen, Sarah had shed her outer garments and was seated in a chair next to Molly, talking softly as she took a blood pressure cuff from her bag.

“I know you have questions, but just let me check on you and the boppli first, ja? That’s what’s most important now.”

Aaron watched his sister’s face as Sarah took her blood pressure and listened to her heart. Molly was visibly relaxing at Sarah’s gentle touch and quiet words. Sarah had a gift—he couldn’t deny that.

“Everything seems fine,” Sarah said finally, folding her stethoscope and putting it back into the bag. “But you are getting upset, and you mustn’t. It’s bad for the baby. He or she needs a calm mammi, ja?”

Molly nodded, looking a little shamefaced. “Poor Aaron. He had to bear the brunt of my temper.”

“Ach, Aaron’s shoulders are strong enough to carry that,” Sarah said. “But you can’t get all ferhoodled about this. We will find the answers.”

“But I want you to deliver my baby.” Molly’s blue eyes filled with tears suddenly, wrenching Aaron’s heart.

“I know.” Aaron knelt next to her, taking her hands in his. “But you muscht not ask Sarah to do something that will get her into trouble with the law.”

“I know.” Molly’s fingers clutched his. “But what will we do instead?”

She was his little sister, turning to him for help and thinking he had the answers. He wished he did. “There is the doctor in town—”

“If you think I’ll go to the man who’s causing all this trouble for Sarah, you don’t know a thing, Aaron Miller!”

“No, no, that won’t do.” He didn’t like that idea himself.

“What about the clinic at Fostertown?” Sarah said, her voice soft. “I know it’s a bit far, but you could have Ben Morgan on standby, ready to take you as soon as you go into labor. And Aaron or Nathan could stay there with you until you’re ready to come home.”

Molly made a visible effort to quench her tears. “Ja. I guess that is all we can do.”

“If you want, I will call the clinic and make arrangements for you. Dr. Brandenmyer and his staff are fine people. They’ll take care of you.”

Was it wrong of him to feel secretly relieved that things had turned out this way? Molly would have his niece or nephew in a hospital setting, where the most modern of medical procedures were ready if something went wrong. He couldn’t help but be relieved at that.

Sarah rose, and he stood with her. “Denke, Sarah.”

She shook her head, as if it didn’t merit thanks. “It’s no trouble. But I must get home to Aunt Emma. She is fretting too, I’m afraid.”

“She can’t help worrying, I know.” He walked with her to the door, holding her coat as she slipped it on. “This isn’t what she wanted for you.”

“No.” They walked out together into the swirling snow. “But it is my responsibility, not hers. I am the one who went to Dr. Mitchell on behalf of the Englisch woman.”

“Emma wouldn’t fault you for that.” This was hard for him to say, but he must. “She is a strong woman who always puts other people first. I have been wrong to judge her harshly all these years.”

“She doesn’t blame you for your feelings.” Sarah put the bag into the buggy and prepared to climb up. “I’m glad if you have forgiven Aunt Emma for what happened. But that hasn’t changed your mind about midwifery, has it?”

His throat clutched. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” He couldn’t tell her less than the truth. “But I guess it hasn’t. I can’t forget that if Mammi had gone to a hospital, she’d be alive today.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

S
arah
had never felt so out of place in her life. She sat erect, feet together, hands clasping each other in her lap. With her gaze lowered, she couldn’t see the curious stares from the two other people waiting in the lawyer’s office in Lewisburg. Or the equally curious glances from the receptionist behind the desk.

But she was aware of them, probing, wondering what an Amish woman was doing in a lawyer’s office. Only the presence of Bishop Mose, sitting stolidly by her side, kept her from running away.

Gratitude filled her heart, chasing a little of the fear. Bishop Mose had arranged everything. He had contacted the lawyer the police chief recommended, he had made the appointment, and he had asked Ben Morgan to drive them today.

She let her gaze slip sideways a little. Bishop Mose sat squarely, hands planted on his knees. He looked as unmovable as an oak, and just as strong.

“Don’t worry so much,” he said softly, knowing, as she did, that the others in the room wouldn’t understand the dialect. “The lawyer will tell us what to do, and we will do it.”

We
, he’d said, and the word touched her heart. She wasn’t alone.

“I do not know how to thank you for . . . all of this. Just the fact that you were willing to come with me . . .”

Her voice threatened to break, so she let the words trail off. Surely Bishop Mose knew better than anyone how great her debt was to him. By this act, he had cut off much of the criticism that would be leveled at her for seeking a lawyer’s advice.

“Taking care of my people is my duty and my joy,” he said. “What kind of leader would I be if I did not support you?”

“There are many who would say I got what I deserved for becoming involved with the Englisch woman and the doctor. And some who would like to see all our mothers go to a hospital.” She took a breath, trying not to think of Aaron.

“All Amish do not think alike.” He didn’t sound perturbed about that. “All each of us can do is follow the teachings of the church and the voice of God in our hearts.”

She turned that over in her mind. Did she feel confident that her actions had been in keeping with God’s guidance? She thought so, but how could she be sure?

She was about to confess her doubts to Bishop Mose when the secretary stood.

“Mrs. Mast? You can go in now.”

Sarah rose, feeling like a rag doll jerked upright by a child’s hand. Everything she did this day was unfamiliar. Unknown. She and Bishop Mose walked into the lawyer’s office.

The lawyer came forward to meet them, hand outstretched. A woman, it was—probably not much older than Sarah herself. Somehow that settled some of the butterflies dancing in her stomach.

“Mrs. Mast. Bishop. It’s a pleasure to meet both of you. I’m Sheila Downing. Come, sit down.” She led them to a pair of leather chairs and sat opposite them.

Sarah managed to remove her gaze from her lap long enough to assess the woman. Had Bishop Mose known that the attorney was a woman? He must have. Maybe he thought that a woman would better understand women’s feelings about having their babies.

Sheila Downing wore a skirt and blouse of a bright turquoise color, the skirt far shorter than anything an Amish woman would wear, of course. Her dark brown hair fell softly to her chin, and a glint of silver earrings showed when she turned her head.

The lawyer slid a pair of dark-rimmed glasses into place and picked up a long pad of paper. “Now, let’s just go over the facts of the situation. I know a bit already from my conversation with the bishop. And I’ve talked with Dr. Brandenmyer at the clinic in Fostertown.” She smiled. “He’s a strong advocate for you, you know.”

For a moment Sarah could only stare. “I . . . I know Dr. Brandenmyer, ja. But I didn’t realize you would be talking to him.”

“I wanted to get the medical perspective, so to speak, especially since it’s the local doctor who instigated this action.” She gave a crisp nod, as if congratulating herself for thinking of that. “We have to consider what our argument before the judge will be.”

Sarah could feel the blood drain from her face. “I will have to go before an Englisch judge? I hoped maybe you could settle this without . . .” She let that die out, because the woman was shaking her head already.

“It doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. The only way this could be over so easily would be for you to stop practicing midwifery.” There was, perhaps, a challenge in her face.

Sarah hesitated. To have it over, so quickly, but at what a cost. She couldn’t give away Aunt Emma’s lifetime of work so easily. She couldn’t deny the gift God had given her.

“No,” she said. “No, I can’t do that.”

She sensed approval coming from Bishop Mose. The lawyer smiled, giving a sharp nod.

“Good,” Ms. Downing said. “I hoped that was what you’d say. Now, we just have to figure out our strategy. You do realize, don’t you, that the Pennsylvania Department of Health doesn’t certify lay midwives?”

“Ja, I know. Many states have a certification system for lay midwives, but Pennsylvania only grants recognition to certified nurse-midwives.”

The lawyer looked a bit relieved, she thought, that Sarah understood the situation. “For the most part, the state government has let groups like the Amish alone when it comes to how they have their babies. But Dr. Mitchell is insisting that you’re practicing medicine by delivering babies.”

Sarah shook her head, still as bewildered by that as she’d been when she first heard the words. “I don’t understand that. I’m not giving women prescription medicine, only herbal remedies. I’m not operating on them. Amish go to medical doctors and hospitals for that. It’s the woman who has the baby. I’m just there to help her through the labor and catch the baby.”

“I understand that you see it that way, but the district attorney will try to convince the judge that childbirth is a medical procedure. That’s why I needed an opinion from Dr. Brandenmyer. He’s highly respected and well-known for his work, and with him on our side, we have a much stronger argument.”

She went on, detailing some of the arguments she would make, and Sarah realized that Ms. Downing was relishing the battle.

Sarah wasn’t. All she wanted to do was go back to delivering babies. It seemed to her that the babies and mothers were being lost in all this talk of law and precedents.

“Has there ever been a case like this one in the Englisch court?” Bishop Mose seemed to be following better than she was.

“Something similar did happen a couple of years ago,” Ms. Downing said. “Action was taken against a non-Amish lay midwife, charging that she didn’t have Pennsylvania certification.”

Sarah was almost afraid to ask. “How did it turn out?”

“It’s not really much help to us legally, because the case was dismissed on a technicality. But it did show that the court was swayed by public opinion when a lot of people showed their support for the woman. The more local support you have, the better.”

Sarah’s heart sank. “I have not been here long. I’m not sure that most people in Pleasant Valley have even heard of me.”

If the attorney was disappointed, she didn’t let it show. “Well, we have Dr. Brandenmyer at least. That will help. Bishop, do you think any of your women would be willing to testify to Sarah’s skill?”

“I couldn’t ask that.” Sarah’s heart cringed at the thought of expecting her patients to go into an Englisch courtroom for her.

“You will not ask,” Bishop Mose said. “I will do so. It’s better that way.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Sarah nodded. Did he mean to spare her the pain of having people refuse? Or did he think women would feel they should agree if he asked them?

Neither possibility was reassuring. She thought of the babies she’d delivered here. If Dora Schmidt testified about the day Aunt Emma had her mini-stroke, that incident might do more harm than good.

And then there were the babies yet to come, and Molly’s pain at having her plans for her baby’s birth turned upside down.

“This order not to deliver any babies until after the hearing . . .”

Sarah hesitated, but the lawyer nodded encouragingly.

“We have a baby due soon, and the mammi is upset about going all the way to the clinic. Is it possible to get permission to deliver that one baby?” Aaron wouldn’t like it, but for Molly’s sake she had to try.

The lawyer leaned forward, her gaze intent on Sarah’s face. “I can try to get a modification in the order. But in the meantime, you must not deliver any babies. I’m not saying they’d go that far, but they could arrest you for that. You understand, don’t you? This is important, and it could prejudice the judge against you.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” The woman sat back, looking relieved. “Well, I think that’s all we can do today if you have the information I asked the bishop to have you bring?”

Sarah nodded, holding out a bulky envelope. It contained the history of her life as a midwife—her training, her work, the babies she’d delivered, information about the birthing center in Ohio. “It is all here.”

“Fine.” Ms. Downing took the envelope. “I’ll go through all this information and begin to organize our arguments. Bishop Mose, if you’ll let me know of any people who are willing to testify, that would be very helpful.”

He nodded.

“I may want to come out and see your birthing rooms at some point. Take a few pictures. Is that okay?”

The bishop nodded. “So long as you do not show Sarah’s face in any photos.”

“Right.” She stood. “That’s all I need from you right now. Try not to worry about it too much. I can’t guarantee that we’ll win, of course, but we’ll put up a good fight.”

Sarah managed a smile, even though her heart ached at the words. She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted to help women have their babies.

She and Bishop Mose walked in silence along the hall and down the stairs. She didn’t know about him, but she felt a little dazed after the conversation with the lawyer.

As they approached the door to the street, Sarah could see through the glass panel that Ben’s car waited at the curb.

“I will be glad to get home,” she said as they stepped outside. “Aunt Emma will—”

She lost whatever she was about to say as a man with a camera popped up in front of her, snapping. Gasping, she turned her face away, only to find another close at hand. A woman thrust a tape recorder at her face.

“Give us a comment about this case, Mrs. Mast. Is the DA going to shut you down?”

“Look this way,” someone else shouted.

For a terrifying moment she was caught between them, like a mouse cornered between two cats.

Then Bishop Mose grabbed her on one side and Ben on the other. They hustled her into the car. She held her hands in front of her face, near tears, while the two men piled into the car after her. Ben, muttering to himself, accelerated out of the parking space.

“I’m right sorry about that,” he said once they were safely away. “If I’d been faster, I could have gone around to the back, but I was afraid you’d walk out while I was doing that. Ghouls,” he muttered, and she understood he meant the reporters.

“I never thought of such a thing. Why are they interested in me?”

“Amish are always news, I guess,” Ben said.

“Ja, especially when we butt up against Englisch laws.” Bishop Mose shook his head. “I should have expected it.” His voice was heavy with regret.

Was the regret for the reporters? Or for coming to her defense?

A chill went through Sarah, and it was all she could do to keep her body from shaking.

How could she go through with this? How could she possibly do it?

More
snow began in midmorning the next day, drifting down as scattered flakes. Glancing out, Sarah could only think how exactly the sky matched her mood—dark, heavy, brooding.

“Looks like we’re getting some snow.” Talking to Aunt Emma about the weather was far better than talking about the subject that weighed on her heart. No matter how generous Aunt Emma was in her support, Sarah couldn’t forget that she’d brought this trouble on them.

“Ja, I heard tell we’d get an inch or two today.” Aunt Emma rocked and knitted, the click of her needles keeping pace with the squeak of the maple rocking chair.

“What are you making?” Sarah sat down across from her, picking up the mending basket. She may as well do something useful, too.

“Socks for Jonas’s oldest boy. He goes through them too fast.” Aunt Emma was silent for a moment. “I had a note from Jonas in the mail, wanting me to go and stay with them for a few weeks.” The needles clicked. “I might do that.”

Sarah’s throat went tight. Aunt Emma didn’t want to be here any longer. Maybe she didn’t want to witness her business disappearing. Or maybe she didn’t want to be associated with Sarah in all that was going on.

Sarah cleared her throat. “That might be gut.”

What else could she say?

By noon the snow was piling up outside, with the wind sending drifts forming against the house. From the front window Sarah could normally see the road, but now the place where it should be was an expanse of unmarked white.

“Nothing has gone by on the road in over an hour,” she said, her breath forming a cloud on the pane of glass.

Aunt Emma moved to stand next to her. “Looks more likely we’re getting a couple of feet than a couple of inches.” She turned. “I’ll put some soup on for lunch. That’ll taste gut. We’re luckier than the Englisch when it comes to weather like this, I think. We don’t have to worry about the electric going off.”

“We’ll stay warm, no matter what,” Sarah agreed. She followed Aunt Emma to the kitchen. “I’ll slice some bread to go with the soup.”

She was just reaching for the loaf when someone or something pounded against the back door. Exchanging a startled look with her aunt, she hurried to open it.

Benjamin stood there, covered with so much snow that she could barely make him out.

“Benjamin! Goodness, what are you doing out in this? Komm in.” She ushered him into the warmth, closing the door behind him. “Get out of those wet clothes and warm up.”