Three
Nathan heard a baby cry in his sleep. The sound had interrupted a pleasant dream in which he had been fishing in a rowboat on their farm pond back in Indiana. He had pulled several bigmouth bass from the water, one after another, while his father leaned back in the stern, watching him in amazement. “Haven’t you any bait on your hook?” Nathan had asked his father in the dream.
“Jah, I have plenty of worms left,” his father had said. “But the fish seem to like your line better today.”
The sun had felt hot on his back and shoulders while a cool breeze across the water had kept them comfortable. He couldn’t have imagined a more perfect summer day. Nathan remained in bed after realizing he’d been dreaming, burrowing deeper under the covers.
But the crying was real, the sound emanating from the next room. This was the third time the baby had awoken him during the night. Glancing at his windup clock, he punched his pillow and then swung his legs out of bed. He had only fifteen more minutes until his four thirty milking and figured he might as well get up.
As he passed the guest room—now the bedroom of his aunt—he heard soft cooing in an attempt to lull the child back to sleep. A twinge of guilt gripped his heart. How much sleep will Aunt Iris receive if the boppli remains fussy night after night? But Nathan had few options, considering he had signed a one-year lease on the farm. Because an Amish man kept up his end of a contract, it would be at least eight months before he could move back to Indiana where his mamm and sisters lived. They might be able to help with his son, but they couldn’t solve the problem of few farms in the area available for lease.
A man needed to work to live. So he and his squalling child would have to stick things out here for the foreseeable future, as long as Iris didn’t return to her decidedly quieter home with her own sons.
Nathan dressed and headed to the barn to immerse himself in the numbing oblivion of mindless chores. While he milked or watered or fed or cleaned, he concentrated on the task at hand and didn’t allow his mind to wander. Today at noon his dear wife would be laid to rest in the small local cemetery. After the funeral, Iris’ sons would host the mourners for the afternoon meal at their home. Because he and Ruth weren’t well known, he expected only a dozen or so families at most to attend the graveside service.
He had refused to have the customary showing in his front parlor. He didn’t want folks stomping in and out of his rented house all day. He’d never been an outgoing man, and his Ruth had been painfully shy, almost frightened of people. The sooner he put the final stage of this horrible ordeal behind him the better. Nothing would bring his sweet wife back—not prayers from the bishop or words of sympathy from the district members or a thousand tears shed over the next hundred lonely nights of his life. Only hard work and the grace of God would eventually take the pain and sorrow from his heart.
“Nathan? Nathan!”
He finally heard his name being called while moving hay bales down from the barn loft. “I’m on my way,” he hollered from the loft window. On his way to the house he spotted Aunt Iris on the back porch. She was about to clang the rusty old farm bell when she spotted him on the path. She waved and then disappeared into the house.
Slipping off his muddy boots in the back hall, he padded into a kitchen smelling faintly of chicken soup.
“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you heard me. You’d better eat some lunch and then take your shower. With the deacons and bishop meeting us at the cemetery, we shouldn’t be late.”
Nathan washed his hands before slumping into a chair. Iris set a plate of two sandwiches, sweet pickles, and a sliced apple before him. “I thought I smelled chicken soup,” he said taking a bite of the sandwich. A simmering pot of beef, chicken, or twelve-bean soup had been Ruth’s standard fare on Saturdays. Then they could reheat the leftovers on the Sabbath without much fuss.
“Ach, you’re smelling chicken and dumplings. I put them in the big roaster to take with us to eat later at my son’s house.” She seemed to be avoiding eye contact and any direct reference that it would be a funeral they were attending today. “Would you prefer to eat a bowl of that now instead of sandwiches?” she asked while filling baby bottles at the stove.
“No, danki. These are fine—more than enough. I just wondered about the smell.” He took a hearty bite. With all Iris had to do, he didn’t want to appear finicky. “Aren’t you eating? Would you like this other sandwich?”
“I’ve already eaten. I’ll be right back,” she said as she disappeared down the hallway.
Nathan sat eating in a house that no longer felt like his home, as though he were the guest and not Iris.
“Here we are,” she said cheerily a few minutes later. “Little Abraham is ready for his lunch too.” She set the baby carrier on the kitchen table next to his plate.
Nathan glanced into the folds of blue quilt and saw only a pink forehead and button nose. He continued eating bologna and cheese with no particular urge to get a better look.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Say guder nachmittag to your son.”
He locked gazes with her across the room. “He doesn’t talk, Aunt, neither English nor Deutsch, and I don’t see the point of babbling to infants.”
“Well, just take a better look then. He’s not going to bite you.” Surprisingly, she walked over and poked Nathan in the shoulder.
He tamped down his rising irritation. Didn’t he have to finish lunch and shower for the funeral? Hadn’t she made a point that they shouldn’t be late? He set the remainder of the sandwich back on the plate and put the plate in the sink. “I have to get ready to bury my wife. Danki for the meal.” He walked into the bathroom without another glance at the baby carrier. At least the youngster wasn’t kicking up his usual fuss.
Thirty minutes later he found his aunt still in the kitchen, packing baby bottles into a tote bag. A second cloth bag stated the obvious in large red letters: Diaper Bag. Iris was dressed from head to toe in mourning clothes, from her heavy black bonnet down to her black, lace-up shoes. Her dress reached her ankles, and a black shawl hung over the crook of her arm.
“It hasn’t been cool at night for weeks,” he said. “You probably won’t need your wrap.”
Her face looked pale and wan as she glanced up. “You never know, and this way I’ll have it with me. Would you come back inside to carry Abraham after you get the buggy hitched?” She set the roaster of chicken and dumplings into Nathan’s largest hamper.
“Of course,” he murmured, tugging his black wide-brimmed hat down over his ears. Yet he couldn’t help thinking that if he carried the heavy hamper and bags, she could manage a seven-pound tyke in a plastic carrier. He found himself tense with irritation while he hitched up the gelding. If he’d gotten to know some of his English neighbors, maybe one would have been willing to babysit and he wouldn’t have to take Abraham to such a solemn occasion. How respectful would it be to Ruth’s memory if sounds of wailing drowned out the bishop’s Scripture readings?
Nathan turned his face skyward as he emerged from the barn driving the buggy. The intense color of the crystalline blue almost hurt his eyes. Not a cloud marred the perfection of the June day. Ruth had loved hanging laundry on sunny, breezy days, claiming that clothes dried in half the time without the humidity. But considering what lay ahead, it could have rained without cessation as far as he was concerned.
When he pulled open the back door, Iris pressed the handle of the baby carrier into his hand. “Let’s be off then.” She slung a tote bag over each shoulder and then lifted the hamper of food.
“Aunt Iris, let me carry that,” he said. “It looks too heavy—”
“No.” Her curt reply cut short any argument. “You haven’t checked on your son since he came home from the hospital.” She carried her burdens very gingerly down the steps while he closed the door behind them.
“The cradle is in the guest room. I don’t want to invade your privacy by walking into your room.”
“Nothing keeps you from going in while I’m fixing dinner at the stove.” She glared at him over her shoulder.
“I suppose not, but I’ve been busy since we came home. Animals don’t feed themselves. And my neighbors may have cut the hay, but it still needed to be raked. Now I must bale and get it stored in the barn before the next rain.”
They reached the gate where the horse and buggy had been tied to the post. Nathan placed the baby carrier on the seat and then offered Iris a hand to step up.
She set the hamper and bags down in the driveway and crossed her arms. Her feet looked to be so well planted, Nathan was sure she wouldn’t have blown away in gale force winds. “Hold on a minute, nephew. I want you to pull back that blanket and take a good look at your son.”
Nathan crossed his arms too. “I’ve seen him, Aunt Iris. I sat with him on the ride to the hospital and held his carrier on the way back. You’re being plum silly when we need to get to the cemetery.”
“Then I suggest you stop wasting time and do as I ask, because we’re not leaving until you do.” When she lifted her chin, he noticed a dimple he’d never spotted before.
Nathan rolled his eyes. He knew he had no choice but to do her bidding. He owed her respect above all else. Had it not been for her, he didn’t know what he would have done. He leaned over the seat and drew back the blanket. A quizzical pair of dark eyes peered up at him from a round pink face. The splotches evident on the day he was born had faded. One little fist kept opening and closing as though exercising his tiny fingers. After a moment the baby yawned with great exaggeration as though his day had been particularly tiring thus far.
Nathan watched until his son shut his eyes and dozed off, the fist coming to rest on the blanket. Then he slowly straightened his spine, one vertebra at a time. “All right, I took a good long look. I must admit he’s changed in the past few days. As bopplin go, he’s a fine-looking little tyke. Are you satisfied?” He again offered his hand.
Iris didn’t budge from her statuelike stance. “So far you’ve referred to him as a boppli, little tyke, and a youngin. I would like you to call him by his name—Abraham. After all, you picked it out, so you should use it occasionally.”
“If you continue with this nonsense, we’ll be last to arrive at the funeral.”
“Then do as I ask.” The tiny woman grew more resolute by the minute.
Nathan leaned over the carrier and cleared his throat. “Hullo, Abraham. I am your daed. I trust you are comfortable in that contraption. Be sure to let us know by crying if you get hungry or need anything else along the way.” en he tucked the blanket snuggly under the baby’s chin. “How was that?” he asked Iris with a smile.
“Harrumph,” she huffed. “I guess it’s not bad for a start.” She accepted his hand and climbed into the buggy.
With his aunt finally seated, Nathan loaded the bags and hamper, climbed onto his seat, and clucked to the horse to get moving before she thought of something else to delay them. But with Abraham wedged between them, she seemed content to watch the passing scenery, and he had time to ponder the oddities of women.
They talked little on the drive other than to make cursory comments about the weather. But during the last half mile, Iris turned toward him on the seat. “Why didn’t your wife ever want to meet me or come to my house?”
He gritted his teeth. Can’t she just let Ruth rest in peace? Why do folks have to figure out every what-for and why-not?
He took a deep breath before he spoke. “She was very shy and nervous around people who weren’t blood kin.”
Iris furrowed her forehead as though deep in thought. “Then I’m surprised she wanted to move here.”
“She didn’t wish to move. I did. And since her place was with me, she agreed.”
“Her family would have insisted she go to a hospital if they had been here.”
He lifted a brow. “If she would have told them the truth about her condition, but that’s all water under the bridge now.” He pulled on the reins to slow the horse as they turned into the rutted cemetery road.
Several buggies of early arrivals were already parked near the entrance. Nathan pulled in line beside them. As the three of them stepped down into the bright sunshine, he spotted the hearse from the funeral parlor driving up the narrow lane. The bishop and deacon stood waiting under the sycamore tree with prayer books in hand. Over his shoulder Nathan saw several buggies approaching from the other direction. He glanced down at his sleeping son, bundled in blue fleece despite the warmth of the day, and then at his aunt. “Abraham hasn’t peeped during the entire trip. Let’s get this service over with before he wakes up. We need to put this sorrowful day behind us.”
Abby had debated long into the night about attending Ruth Fisher’s funeral. Will people hold this young mother’s passing against me? Will Nathan Fisher? Though she knew in her heart she had done everything she could, most Amish men and some women didn’t understand the risks of home births. Although thousands of babies had been born in Amish bedrooms for hundreds of years, that didn’t negate the risk a woman took not being close to modern medical equipment. In the end, Abby decided she needed to go for her own sense of closure.
After parking at the end of a long row, Daniel helped her down from the buggy. Far more district members had turned out than she’d expected. Because Amish funerals didn’t last very long, no one had unhitched their horses. Abby appreciated the fact that Daniel had made sure their buggy was pointing toward the road should they need to make a hasty exit.
As Abby and Daniel approached the gravesite, six men lifted a plain pine box from the back of the hearse and carried it between the rows of uniform headstones. No flowers marked the graves, nor would any adorn Ruth’s in the future. No wooden crosses, candles, potted plants, or stuffed bears had been left by grieving family members. When the Grabers joined the ring of mourners, the bishop, deacon, and most others nodded in their direction. Some reached over to shake Daniel’s hand and then hers, whispering words of condolence despite the fact she’d never met Ruth before that awful night.
Abby felt a lump rise up her throat when she spotted Nathan Fisher. He stood at the head of the newly dug grave, staring down at the damp, rich loam of freshly turned earth. He held his hat between his large hands, while his bird-sized aunt waited by his side. She was holding a baby, swaddled in a handmade patchwork quilt.
Little Abraham Fisher.
How Abby longed to see his sweet face to be certain he was thriving. She wanted to count his fingers and toes, listen to his tiny heart, and watch life-giving air come and go from his healthy lungs. But she wouldn’t intrude in their private time of sorrow.
Soon the bishop cleared his throat and began reading from the Scriptures. The entire funeral service took less than thirty minutes, including silent prayers for the repose of Ruth’s Christian soul. Songbirds offered unbearably cheerful melodies high in the treetops, while the heavy scent of late rhododendrons and azaleas filled the air. Weather this agreeable didn’t seem fitting for so a somber occasion. Of course, death was simply part of life—no less significant in God’s design than birth. Abby glanced at the elderly English undertaker, looking dignified in his austere black suit. His occupation was the exact omega to her alpha vocation. Does he enjoy his work as much as I used to?
Daniel took hold of her arm, signaling it was time for them to depart. She uttered one final prayer, and then they started toward the row of buggies.
“Mrs. Graber,” called a voice over her shoulder.
She knew who had hailed before she turned around. Nathan Fisher was striding toward them. Deep lines creased his pale face around his mouth and across his forehead, while dark smudges beneath his eyes spoke volumes about recent sleeplessness.
He halted in front of them, nodding to each in succession. “Danki for coming.”
“We are sorry for your loss, Mr. Fisher. This is my ehemann, Daniel.” The two men shook hands, and then Nathan crossed his arms over his starched black coat. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and appeared to be choosing his words carefully. If Abby could have vanished and reappeared in almost any other place, she would have done so.
“It was God’s will, but also Ruth’s choice,” he said after a moment. “I wanted you to know you weren’t to blame. There wasn’t anything you could have done even if you had arrived sooner.”
“I know I tried my best,” she whispered as sweat ran beneath her kapp and down her neck.
“You say that now because it’s still fresh in your mind. But some night you might lie in bed wondering and second-guessing yourself, and I don’t want that to happen. My Ruth was told by a doctor in Indiana not to bear kinner because doing so might kill her. She chose not to listen to her. She thought maybe the doc could be wrong, or maybe God would take pity on her.” He gazed off to the left where the undertaker’s van was pulling onto the paved road. The crunch of gravel sounded unnaturally loud in the silent grove of hawthorn bushes and sycamore trees. “She never told me any of this until she was five months along.”
Abby knew that this pregnancy talk was hard for Nathan, but still he continued for her sake.
“She wanted this baby more than just about anything else…for me and for herself. And once you delivered our son, she was all right with dying. Birthing him was all that mattered to Ruth, and you saved our little Abraham.”
Abby forced herself to swallow and fought back tears. Crying would only make things worse. Nathan’s eyes were also glassy with moisture.
“Don’t get me wrong. She would have loved to watch him grow up, but giving me a son was worth the risk to Ruth. So if anybody should be held responsible here, it’s me.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“No one’s at fault, Mr. Fisher,” she said. “We can’t blame ourselves for God’s will, nor should we try to second-guess His plan for us.” Abby felt Daniel’s palm pressing against her lower back. He didn’t like it when she voiced sentiments that should come from the ministerial brethren. But she couldn’t allow this man to suffer unnecessary guilt if she could help it. “She must have loved you very much. Keep that in mind when you can’t sleep at night.” Abby shifted her body away from Daniel’s touch.
“I will, and danki for coming today—both of you.” He gave his beard a pull, nodded to them, and turned to walk away. Then he stopped short. “Would you like to see him? Little Abraham? He looks fine when his face isn’t scrunched up from a throwing a tantrum.”
Abby laughed, feeling her tension drain away. “I would love to.”
“As long as we keep his belly full, he stays in a fairly pleasant mood,” Nathan added. The three laughed while they walked toward a knot of people talking under the shady trees. Abby recognized Iris Fisher in the center of the group, holding the infant.
Nathan introduced them to his neighbors, most of whom Abby and Daniel already knew from barn raisings and other work frolics. Daniel shook hands with the menfolk while Abby approached Nathan’s aunt.
“Guder nachmittag,” Iris greeted. “I suppose you’d like to see the little one.” She held out the bundle for inspection.
“Good afternoon to you. Jah, I would love to.” Abby pulled back the edge of the quilt and peered into the dark eyes of Ruth’s newborn son. He grinned at her as though in recognition, which Abby knew to be plain silly. She reached to touch his downy soft hair with near reverence. “Hello, dear boy. You are looking very handsome today.” When emotion began to constrict her throat, Abby stepped back and focused on the buggies by the road. One or two families were loading up to leave, while several horses stamped their hooves with impatience.
“Rest easy, Abby,” said Iris. “Little Abraham is doing fine, and I plan to take good care of him.”
Abby smoothed her palms down her skirt. “I know you will. It was nice to see you again, although I wish it had been under pleasanter circumstances.” She voiced a particularly English expression she’d picked up from Dr. Weller.
“That’s all right. We can’t control circumstances, but at least you were able to see he’s doing well.” She shifted the boy to her other arm. “Why don’t you stop by my son’s house for a bite to eat? He doesn’t live far from here. We have plenty of food.” Iris looked her in the eye and held her gaze. “Do you remember the way?”
Abby considered accepting the invitation. If they attended, she would have a chance to hold the child and be assured he was thriving. And she might find out more about Ruth Fisher, but Daniel squeezed her shoulder.
“Danki,” he said, “but we need to get home. Our two kinner are at a neighbor’s house and I’m behind on my chores. We are real sorry for your loss.” He nodded at Iris, grasped Abby’s hand, and led her away from the mourners as though she were a child.
She felt oddly annoyed and yet relieved at the same time as they walked back to their buggy without speaking. She didn’t wait for his help to climb inside. With a cluck of his tongue to the horse, the buggy rolled down the dirt lane in between closely packed graves. Once they reached the county road, she said softly, “I don’t see what harm it would have done to stop by the Fishers’.”
“Not a matter of harm, fraa, but what good would it have served? You got to see the boppli to set your mind at ease, but stopping there would only have prolonged your misery. You need to put this delivery out of your mind and concentrate on the hundreds of successful ones. Folk die. It’s part of life. We might not like it, but upsetting yourself isn’t going to bring her back or change a thing.” He clamped his jaw closed the way he always did when he wished a subject dropped.
Abby swallowed down her reply. Arguing with her husband wouldn’t help matters, and he was probably right. It just didn’t seem so at the moment. She nodded and Daniel slapped the reins against the horse’s back to pick up the pace.
On the way home she concentrated on the green hayfields waiting to be cut and the knee-high stalks of corn standing in neat rows. Sunlight sparkled off the clear blue water of ponds, while hawks wheeled on wind currents overhead, watching for tasty prey to make their lunch. Daniel’s idea about focusing on the hundreds of successful births made sense. She would remember Ruth in her prayers for many nights to come, but her death shouldn’t cripple her ability to serve her community.
“Do we have any leftovers in the fridge?” Daniel’s question broke the long silence. “All that talk about food made me hungry. I’d better eat something before heading to the fields.” He glanced over at her and they both burst out laughing.
“You’re the one who passed up a free meal, Mr. Graber. Now you’re probably stuck with a bowl of soup or a ham sandwich.” She tugged the sleeve of his coat.
“Serves me right for not listening to my smart fraa.” He offered a wink as he shrugged out of his coat. With their farm in sight, he would forgo his proper appearance.
“Good gracious, what is going on?” Abby’s attention had focused on a vehicle in their driveway. The sheriff’s cruiser was parked near their barn; its red and blue lights still spinning as the car idled.
“Git up there, Sam!” Daniel slapped the reins once more. “What on earth could the sheriff want at our farm?”
An icy chill pooled in Abby’s belly. “Oh my. I hope nothing’s happened to the kinner.” She jumped down before Daniel brought the buggy to a stop and ran toward the cruiser. She saw no one inside or near the vehicle. With her heart slamming against her ribcage, she ran to the barn door and nearly collided with the exiting sheriff and his deputy.
“Easy there, ma’am. No need to knock us down.”
Abby stepped back with fear and confusion. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to my children? They were supposed to be next door at my neighbor’s.” Her voice sounded strangled.
“Your children are fine as far as I know. They’re not why we’re here.” The man swept off his wide-brimmed beige hat and focused on Daniel. He was hurrying toward them with the horse still harnessed to the buggy.
Abby wrung her hands, casting glances between her husband and the sheriff.
The large man, with his belly straining the buttons of his shirt and noonday stubble darkening his chin, cleared his throat. He looked about as comfortable as she felt.
“Ma’am, are you Mrs. Abigail Graber, the midwife of this here Amish community?” He’d assumed a formal tone of voice.
The bottom fell from her stomach, and she suddenly felt weak in the knees. “I am. I’m Abby Graber.”
Daniel dropped the reins and walked to her side. His arm protectively encircled her shoulders. “What’s this about, officer?”
“I’m afraid a warrant has been issued for your arrest, Mrs. Graber.” The sheriff set his hat back on, while his deputy shuffled his boot heels in the dirt.
Abby gasped. She tried to speak, but words would not come.
“For what?” Daniel asked. “What are the charges, sir?”
The sheriff gazed at Daniel with more pity than anything else. “Your wife has been charged with practicing midwifery without a license, involuntary manslaughter, practicing medicine without a license, and possession and sale of a dangerous controlled substance. Those last two charges are felonies, Mr. Graber.”
He seems more comfortable addressing Daniel than me, she thought.
“Manslaugher? Practicing medicine?” Daniel’s voice rose in agitation. “That’s absurd. She doesn’t kill people or practice medicine. She delivers babies.”
The officer turned back to Abby. “Did you make a statement to the attending paramedic that you injected Mrs. Fisher with the drug Pitocin?”
Abby felt the blood drain from her head. “Yes. I wanted them to know so there would be no possible drug interaction with anything else or potential overdose. I did it in an attempt to save her.” Her final admission was barely audible.
Daniel turned on the gravel and stared at her, his face a mask of confusion.
Excuses, explanations, pleas for understanding all swam through her brain, yet Abby couldn’t think of anything to say to mitigate the wrong she had done.
“Then I’m afraid I must take you into custody, Mrs. Graber,” the sheriff said.
His deputy brought forth handcuffs from his chest pocket, but the sheriff shook his head. “Bob, I think we can trust one skinny Amish lady to behave herself on the way to county booking.”
With one last glance at Daniel, he turned back at her. “Ma’am, if you would be so kind?” He pointed toward the squad car.
Abby started to walk on legs threatening to collapse beneath her toward the police car on the second most terrifying day of her life.