Sarah's Gift (22 page)

Aunt Emma clasped her hand. “If they accuse you, they accuse me, too. Komm. We must go.”

There was no argument left to make. She followed Aunt Emma outside to where Ben waited beside the car.

“Morning, ladies.” He held the door open, his breath coming out in a frosty plume. “We’ll get there in good time, leaving now. And don’t you worry, Sarah. You’re going to be fine.”

She would like to be sure of that. “Denke, Ben.”

She slid onto the seat next to her aunt. Ben closed the door, climbed in, and turned the car carefully between the snow banks that lined the lane. They were on their way.

She tried to think of all the things the lawyer had told her, but her mind seemed curiously empty. They passed the pond where she and Aaron had joined in rescuing Louise. There was the Miller house, a spiral of smoke from the chimney the only sign of life.

“Don’t grieve too much.” Aunt Emma’s hand clasped hers. “If Aaron cannot open his heart for you, then it is not meant to be.”

Sarah nodded. She knew that, but somehow knowing didn’t lessen the pain.

The road unwound before them, faster than seemed possible, with familiar farms and shops scrolling by on either side. Pleasant Valley slept in the quiet of winter under its blanket of snow. In moments they were driving down the main street of town. She had been here such a short time, but already Pleasant Valley had begun to feel like home. She didn’t want to say good-bye.

They passed Bishop Mose’s harness shop, and she turned her head to look. The shop seemed to be closed. She’d hoped Bishop Mose would turn up to go with them today, but he hadn’t. Still, since the shop was closed, that might mean he would meet them in Lewisburg.

“You remember all the things the lawyer said you should say?” Aunt Emma asked.

Sarah took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. “I think so. I’m as ready as I can be. We must hope that is enough.”

“Ja. The rest is in God’s hands.”

She nodded, breathing a silent prayer. Whatever happened today, she would accept it as God’s will.

Traffic became heavier as they approached Lewisburg, with several busses that seemed out of place on the tree-lined streets.

“Busier than usual,” Ben said. “I might have trouble parking, so I’ll let you off in front of the courthouse and then go find a place to park.”

“That will be fine,” Aunt Emma said, pulling on her gloves. She sounded perfectly composed. Whatever might happen, it seemed she was ready.

Sarah reached inside herself, seeking that calm. It was in God’s hands.

They turned the corner, and the courthouse loomed in front of them, large and imposing. But that was not what made Sarah catch her breath.

The steps of the building, the sidewalk in front, even the street itself—all were crowded with people. Not just people. Amish. Mennonite. Others.

“Sarah, look.” Aunt Emma’s voice filled with wonder. “Look. The People. They are here to support you.”

She shook her head, hardly able to believe it. But it seemed to be true. Black-garbed Amish stood silently. Some of the Mennonites, distinguished by the women’s print dresses, held signs. Scattered among them were Englisch, too, with more signs ... signs supporting her, supporting midwives, declaring a woman’s right to choose how her baby would be born. Beyond the crowd she glimpsed people with cameras, but the press of the crowd kept them back.

Ben slid out, grinning, and opened the door. To judge by the expression on his face, he had known about this.

She got out, turning to help Aunt Emma, but Bishop Mose was already there, assisting her. Then he straightened, nodding gravely to Sarah.

“We are ready,” he said.

“Ja.” They walked together through a path people made for them. Murmurs of support reached her, smiles of encouragement. She still could hardly take it in.

They passed a reporter at the courthouse door talking into a microphone. “ . . . in an unprecedented show of silent support, Amish, Mennonites, and others gathered at the courthouse . . .”

The door cut off the woman’s words, and they were inside. Bishop Mose guided them quickly down an echoing hallway. “Ms. Downing is waiting for us in the hearing room. Wait until you see.”

A uniformed officer held the door open for them, and they passed through. Sarah’s breath caught. Whatever she had imagined, it wasn’t this.

The entire room was filled with people in Amish dress, sitting in rows as still and expectant as if they were at worship. Familiar faces turned to greet her as she walked down the aisle . . . the whole Beiler family was there, and the Fishers, the Schmidt family, and so many more.

“We had to hire several buses to bring everyone who wanted to come. We have been waiting at the doors since seven, so we could be here in the room when you arrived,” Bishop Mose said quietly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Sarah’s heart was so full she couldn’t speak. If she had wondered whether she was accepted in Pleasant Valley, she had her answer now.

Ms. Downing stood to greet them, clearly excited. “Can you believe this? The news crews are all over it, and the DA has been looking sicker and sicker all morning. This is not the kind of publicity any elected official wants.”

Sarah nodded, tried to smile, but there was only one question on her mind right now. She turned to Bishop Mose.

“How?” she asked. “Did you do this?”

“I wish I had thought of it,” he said. “It was all Aaron’s idea. He started organizing people, and then Anna and her Englisch friend got involved, and the people from the clinic. Everyone wanted to help, it seemed.”

She heard it all, but her mind had snagged on one name. Aaron. Aaron had done it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
he
lawyer drew Sarah to a seat behind a long table. Stomach lurching, Sarah sat down. The hearing was beginning, then. Even with the community solid behind her, would she be able to do what she should?

Bishop Mose bent over her. “We are all praying,” he said simply. He turned, moving into the row of seats behind the table where a place had apparently been saved for him.

“Okay?” Sheila Downing gave her a questioning look.

Sarah glanced to the front of the room, to the high carved seat flanked by flags where the judge would sit. She swallowed hard.

We are praying for you.

The fear subsided. “I am all right.”

“Good.” The attorney slid papers from her briefcase onto the shining surface of the table. “We don’t have much time,” she went on, her voice low. “You understand, don’t you, why this demonstration of support is important?”

“It means I am not alone.”

The woman seemed faintly surprised. “Well, yes. More importantly, both the district attorney and the judge are aware of it. The DA is already wondering why he let himself in for this battle. They’re both elected officials, after all.”

“I see.” At least, she was trying to. “How can that make a difference in determining what is right and what is wrong?”

The lawyer paused for a moment. “It shouldn’t, but in a courtroom, sometimes it does. Trust me, this is a good thing.”

They could agree on that, at least, if not on the reason why.

A door opened at the front of the room. The judge came in, imposing in his black robe. He took a step or two, glanced toward the room, and his stride checked. Then he mounted the platform to his seat.

After a few formalities, most of which Sarah didn’t understand, the judge leaned forward, seeming to look directly at her over the tops of his glasses. Sarah steeled herself to meet his gaze.

Oddly enough, she didn’t find it as frightening as she’d expected. The judge must be about Bishop Mose’s age, and he had the same calm, the same air of weighing facts carefully before he made a decision.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s make a few things clear, shall we? Mrs. Mast is not on trial here. This is a hearing, held to determine whether there is a case for trial or not.”

Sarah gave a small nod, not sure whether he was speaking to her or to the mass of Amish behind her.

“So we’re going to keep this simple and, I trust, brief.” He looked from Ms. Downing to the district attorney, as if in warning. “I will hear statements from each of you, as well as any experts who can shed light on the subject.” He glanced around the crowded room. “That’s all. Mr. Hoagland, you may proceed.”

Sarah tried to concentrate on what came next, but she failed to follow most of it. The attorney seemed to be speaking in a different language most of the time. He mainly seemed to be saying that since lay midwives weren’t registered by the Pennsylvania Department of Health, it was a crime for them to help women have their babies.

When he called on Dr. Mitchell, she began to wish she didn’t understand as much as she did. The district attorney led him through a series of questions that seemed meant to establish his important credentials. And, in contrast, she supposed, to her lack of them.

“Now, Dr. Mitchell, will you tell us exactly why you are opposed to the practice of lay midwives like Mrs. Stoltzfus and Mrs. Mast?”

“Certainly.” Dr. Mitchell adjusted his glasses, seeming to avoid looking toward the crowded courtroom. “It’s really very simple. Childbirth is a medical procedure. In my opinion, it requires the attendance of a licensed physician and should take place in a hospital, where full medical facilities are available. Only in such a way can we ensure the health and safety of mother and baby.”

“Now, Dr. Mitchell, some might think that your only interest is in protecting your own turf.” Mr. Hoagland’s tone made it clear that the suggestion was ridiculous.

“Of course that’s not true,” Dr. Mitchell said, so quickly it seemed he’d known what the attorney would say. “Believe me, my practice would be much more financially successful if I didn’t deliver babies at all, what with the high cost of malpractice insurance. But I see it as my duty to the community.”

There was more in that vein, and Sarah had to admit to a growing sense that the man really believed what he said. Dr. Mitchell was convinced that his position was the only correct one, and nothing would sway him.

Soon it was Ms. Downing’s turn to ask questions of Dr. Mitchell. She stood a few feet away from him, smiling gently. “Dr. Mitchell, how many babies have you delivered since you came to Pleasant Valley?”

The question seemed to startle him, but surely it was a logical one. “I’m not sure, exactly. I don’t have my records with me.”

“An approximate number will do,” Ms. Downing said.

He shrugged. “Perhaps . . . about ten, I suppose.”

“And before you came here, were you in practice elsewhere as an obstetrician?”

“No.” He snapped off the word. “I’m a general practitioner, but I’m fully qualified to deliver babies. In a high-risk case, I can always refer a patient to a specialist in the city.”

“So, ten babies, more or less. And how many in total?”

Dr. Mitchell seemed to grind his teeth, his face reddening. “About twenty.”

“I see. And do you know how many babies Mrs. Mast has delivered?”

“I have no idea, nor do I care.”

Ms. Downing smiled. “Would you be surprised that her records indicate she has assisted at the births of over two hundred babies?”

He clamped his mouth shut, clearly not prepared to answer.

Dr. Mitchell was followed by a woman from the Department of Health. As Sarah listened to the questions and answers, she began to realize that the woman was treading carefully, perhaps not wanting to offend either side. But she made it clear that lay midwives like Sarah were not licensed by the state, which seemed damaging enough, despite the point Ms. Downing made in her questions that many states did certify and license lay midwives.

When the woman from the Department of Health had stepped down, it seemed to be Ms. Downing’s turn. As she rose from her chair and walked forward with an air of confidence, Sarah found herself relaxing. She was in good hands—she felt it.

Dr. Brandenmyer gave Sarah a reassuring smile as he came forward. His testimony was brief and to the point, supporting the invaluable role that midwives played in helping women who wanted a midwife-assisted home birth.

“Would you want to have someone like Sarah Mast on your staff, Dr. Brandenmyer?”

He smiled. “I’d be honored to. She has an excellent record, and I have seen for myself her empathy and caring for pregnant women. A midwife with her training and experience would be certified in any of a number of states.”

Once Dr. Brandenmyer stepped down, Ms. Downing presented the letter from the doctor Sarah had worked with in Ohio, along with further testimony as to the qualifications of a midwife. The district attorney asked very few questions, and Sarah began to think Ms. Downing had been right that perhaps he regretted listening to Dr. Mitchell.

Ms. Downing addressed the judge. “Your Honor, this case clearly comes down to a disagreement over whether childbirth is the natural function of a healthy body or a medical procedure. Obviously, we believe—”

The judge cut her off with a raised hand. Then he gestured the two attorneys to come forward, leaning over to talk with them in tones so low Sarah couldn’t hear. A cold hand seemed to grip the back of her neck. Had he already decided against her so quickly? If she had to go to a trial . . .

Ms. Downing came quickly back to her, bending over to whisper. “Everyone wants this to go away, quickly and quietly. I just have to give the judge a legal hook on which to hang that.”

Sarah was beginning to understand, she thought. “Can you do that?”

“I think so.” The lawyer patted her hand and turned back to face the judge. “Your Honor, the fact that the Pennsylvania Department of Health does not certify lay midwives doesn’t mean that such a role does not exist. Furthermore, any interference in the way the Amish choose to give birth might be interpreted as interfering with their civil rights under the Constitution. Therefore, I respectfully submit that this court is not the proper venue for a decision as to the role of midwives in childbirth.”

The judge gave a brisk nod and turned to the district attorney. “Mr. Hoagland?”

“We agree, Your Honor.” It seemed he couldn’t say the words fast enough.

“I’m inclined to agree as well. I see no point in wasting the court’s time with this matter. The case against midwife Sarah Mast is dismissed.” He banged his gavel with a look of relief on his face. And then he was gone.

A murmur went through the courtroom. Sarah felt dazed. “Is it over?”

Grinning, Ms. Downing hugged her. “It’s over,” she said. “It’s over.”

“Praise God,” Bishop Mose said.

People began to surge forward, thanking the attorney, crowding around Sarah.

Sarah released herself from Anna’s hug, scanning the faces around her. All dear, familiar faces, but not the one she longed to see.

And then she spotted him. Aaron stood at the back of the room, looking at her. She met his gaze. She wanted to talk to him, to thank him, to tell him . . .

“Komm.” Bishop Mose took her arm. “It is time to go home.”

Aaron
leaned against the back porch railing at Emma’s house, not quite sure why he was still here. The house had been crowded with folks ever since the return from Lewisburg. He had a feeling that most of them were still vaguely astonished at themselves for having taken on an Englisch court and won in such a way.

People came and went, but he waited. There’d been no chance to talk with Sarah yet, and he must do that. And maybe he would have his wish. Sarah came into the kitchen, glanced through the window, and saw him. A moment later she stepped onto the porch, wrapping a shawl around her.

“Aren’t you cold out here all alone, Aaron?”

He shrugged. “It’s not bad. Too crowded in there for my taste.”

“Ja.” She gave a little sigh and leaned against the railing next to him. “I love all of them, and I am so grateful for their support. But you are the one I must talk with.”

Her words were an echo of his thoughts, and he turned slightly so that he faced her. “Maybe that is why I’m standing out here.”

She tilted her head, looking into his face. “I owe you so much gratitude for what you did that I don’t know how to begin to say—”

“Then don’t,” he said. “I’m not here for thanks, Sarah. I’m here to say . . .” He hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I was wrong. That’s all. If I were like that lawyer, maybe I could dress it up in fancier language, but that’s the truth of it. I was wrong.”

Her gaze searched his face. “You have a right to believe what you will, Aaron. If you don’t feel that midwifery is acceptable—”

“Then I would be like Dr. Mitchell, speaking out of ignorance. Thinking I knew what was best for everyone.”

A smile curved the corner of her lips. “Some people might believe that.”

Warmth spread through him at the sight of that smile. “My sister and brothers, you mean. I’m trying to be a bit better about that. I don’t want to tell them what to do, only to help them find the best way.”

“Even if that is different from your way?”

“Ja. But maybe it isn’t.” He couldn’t help it—he had to take her hands in his. “Sarah, when I saw what it meant to Molly, having her baby in familiar surroundings, when I saw how you encouraged her and helped her . . . well, I began to understand the value of what you do. How important it is that a woman like Molly could have her baby the way she wanted to.”

Wariness still guarded Sarah’s eyes. “You didn’t want me to fight for it.”

“No.” He looked down at her hands, clasped in his. “I didn’t, but it wasn’t because I thought you were wrong. I feared you’d be hurt. And I thought you could give it up and still be happy.”

“Do you still think that?” The question was hardly more than a whisper.

“No.” He lifted her hands to his lips, looking at her with all the love he felt clear in his eyes. “Sarah, your skills are a part of you. A precious gift from God. You could no more give that up for me than I could give up loving my sister and brothers. No one should ever ask that in the name of love.”

“ Aaron . . .”

His lips brushed her hands. “I love you, Sarah, and your gift is part of you, so I love that, too. Will you be my wife?”

“Are you sure?” She put her palm against his cheek, looking gravely into his eyes.

“I am certain sure.”

The last of the doubt disappeared from her eyes, leaving them as clear as glass. “I love you, Aaron. Nothing would make me happier.”

He bent his head to kiss her, joy flooding his heart and filling him with peace.