The Amish Midwife's Courtship

by Cheryl Williford

  “I’m good with numbers,” she offered. “If you need help with the books...” She turned, a ledger in hand, her gaze steady. “I’m available.”

  In the past Isaac would have grinned from ear to ear if a young woman had advised she was available, but he was hearing what he wanted to hear in her words. Not what she’d really meant. There was no way someone like Molly would show interest in a man like him. “Danke. Let’s see if I get this business going before we worry about receipts and ledgers.”

  “I need to tell you something,” Molly murmured, seeking his gaze, her look sincere.

  “Ya?”

  “Danke for not telling my mamm about how you got the bump on your head.”

  “Ya, well. I told her it happened when I fell.” He picked up a box of rubber bands and set them on a small desk in the corner of the dusty room. Brooding thoughts assailed him. He pulled off his hat and pushed the painful memories away.

  “You shouldn’t have lied for me.” Her brow arched. “There was no need. Gott will be—”

  “Disappointed in me?” he interrupted, finishing her sentence. “Too late, Molly. He’s already more disappointed than you can imagine.”

  “We have only to ask and Gott will forgive us,” Molly said, holding his gaze.

  He turned away, pretending to be busy with clearing the desk of trash. He wanted Gott’s forgiveness more than he wanted air to breathe, but did he have the right to expect forgiveness after what he’d done?

  “Does it hurt?”

  “What?” He turned back toward her.

  “The bump.”

  “Nee.” He flipped through a pile of papers on the desk, forcing his gaze down. The bump did hurt, but he wasn’t going to tell her. Some things were best left unsaid.

  “The swelling is going down some.”

  He grinned. “I had a good nurse.”

  Molly laughed out loud, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I usually try to keep my tenants as healthy as I can.”

  “You mean when you’re not smacking them with a broom handle.”

  She was a tiny woman, not much taller than his little sister back in Missouri. He didn’t understand why he enjoyed watching Molly bristle so much, but the frown now puckering her forehead made him grin.

  “Ya, well. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you, Isaac Graber,” she muttered, jerking on her kapp ribbons with an air of indignation and scooted out of the little office space. When he checked on her again, she was busy wiping down shelves and stacking old parts manuals the previous owner had left behind.

  Isaac chastised himself as he flopped into the office chair, the pain in his leg telling him he’d have to slow down or regret it that night. “I’m sorry for teasing you, Molly. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. My leg hurts, and the pain makes me grumpy.”

  She walked over to where he was sitting, a dust rag hanging from her fingertips, her brows arched. She looked at the knee he was rubbing. “How did you injure it?”

  He had discussed the crash with his daed, bruder, the bishop and elders of the church, but he wasn’t about to tell Molly how someone had died because of his stupidity. He turned back to the desk, lifting a big sales journal out of the desk drawer. “There’s not much to tell. There was an accident. I got hurt, went to the hospital for a while and had two surgeries. The doctor said the pain will go away in time.”

  He forced a grin as he placed the book on the desk and pushed it her way. “Look at this. Whoever owned this place cleared out in a hurry. Wonder what the rush was?”

  “Leonard Lapp owned the shop for years. I heard he retired and moved back to Ohio. His son took over the business a couple of years ago. I never met him, but rumors spread like wildfire here in Pinecraft. Some said he married an Englischer and abandoned the church, his faith and his daed’s business, too.” Molly looked down at the book and then at Isaac, searching his face, her curiosity about him evident in her expression. She started to speak again, seemed to think better of it and turned away. She busied herself again. He couldn’t help but watch her movements. She had a way about her, something that drew him to her like a moth to a flame.

  He’d have to stay away from Molly Ziegler.

  Chapter Three

  Wide awake at four o’clock in the morning, Molly heard the insistent ring of another late-night caller. She sat up in bed and stretched toward the tiny cell phone approved by her bishop for midwife work. Her fingers searched the bedside table, hurrying to stop the cell phone’s ring before it woke the whole house.

  “Ya. This is Molly.” She pushed back her sheet, put her feet on the cool floor and rose. “Are you timing the contractions, Ralf?” She laughed, reaching for the dress she kept hanging for nights like this. “Ya, I guess you’re right. Six kids are plenty of practice. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  She slipped on her simple work dress and work apron, then slid the phone into her medical case. She brushed back her tangled hair with fast strokes and then pinned it up in a tight bun before adding her kapp.

  There was reason to hurry. Bretta, her friend since school, gave birth faster each time she had another child, and this birth would make number seven. There was no time for much more than a quick brush of her teeth, and she’d better be out the door.

  She scurried down the hall, past Isaac’s door. Did his bump still hurt. She had no cause for guilt, but she still felt at fault every time she looked at the goose egg on his forehead. Grabbing her medical bag, she pulled open the back door, ran to her cart and shoved in the key. In light drizzle she pumped the gas pedal. The golf-cart engine sputtered and coughed. Oh, no. Not now. She’d never make it in time if she had to run all the way to Bretta’s house.

  Isaac repaired engines and fixed bikes, didn’t he? He would know what to do.

  Molly raced through the clapboard house and down the narrow hall. She tapped lightly on Isaac’s door and then began to bang harder. Time passed. Time she didn’t have. “Isaac. Are you awake? Isaac?”

  A sound of something falling came from the room.

  “Is the house burning?” Isaac asked through the closed door.

  Molly pressed her cheek to the cool wood. “No, of course it’s not.”

  “Then go away.”

  Persistence was called for. She banged again. “I need your help, Isaac. Please.”

  The door cracked open an inch.

  She couldn’t see much of his face, but she could hear his heavy breathing. Had he fallen again? “I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s an emergency. My cart won’t start.”

  His door opened a bit more. She could barely make out his form in the dark hallway. “What kind of emergency? Is your mamm hurt?”

  Molly groaned. “No. Not Mamm. It’s Bretta. She’s in labor.” She heard him yawn.

  “Who’s Bretta?”

  “There is no time for foolish chatter. I need you to help me get the cart started.”

  “Outen the lights before you try to start the engine. Your battery is probably as old as the cart.”

  “I tried that, Isaac. All I got was a sputter for my efforts.”

  She could see him run his fingers through his hair in the gloom. “And tell me why you are going out in the dark, to this woman Bretta at this hour? Is she your sister?”

  “Nee, not my sister. My patient.”

  “I didn’t know you were a doctor.” He cleared his throat and coughed, his voice raspy.

  “She’s in labor. I’m her midwife. Please, Isaac. I don’t have time for all these questions. I need your help now. If you’re not inclined to help, just tell me. I’ll call Mose.”

  “This Mose? Is he someone you’re courting?”

  Molly had no patience for all this nix nootzing. “Look. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to bed.” She rushed down the hall and back out the ki
tchen door. Where was a hero when a girl needed one? The term hero certainly didn’t apply to the impressive Herr Isaac Graber. All looks and no charm.

  Flipping on the outside light, Molly rushed over to the cart, intending to give it one last chance before running the six long blocks to Bretta’s home.

  She listened to the sluggish effort of the engine and groaned.

  “Do you have gas in this lump of rust?” Isaac appeared out of the shadows and leaned on the cart, one crutch under his arm. He breathed hard and fast.

  “Gas?” Had she remembered to fill the tank after their outing to the bike shop? Nee. She turned the key, looked at the tank’s gauge. Empty. What a bensel she was. No gas and a mamm-to-be waiting. Worse still, Isaac grinned like he knew what a bensel she was. “I forgot to fill the tank. What am I going to do? I have no choice but to run all the way, or disturb Mose.”

  “Stop panicking and listen. Does your mamm keep gas around for the lawn mower?”

  “I don’t know. Our neighbor, Herr Zucker, cuts the grass, but he does use our mower.” Molly headed for the shed just inside the fenced backyard. She pulled a long string on the wall. Light pooled a golden glow around her. She lifted a gas can off the metal shelf, shook it and then ran back to the cart.

  Isaac stood barefoot next to the cart, his pajama bottoms soaking up the dampness from the grass underfoot. He had the cart’s gas cap in his hand.

  She avoided looking directly at him and poured the gas in the cart’s tank. Isaac screwed on the cap and then surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look like any midwife I’ve ever seen.”

  “And how many have you seen?” Molly asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  He scratched his head and yawned wide. “Only you.”

  She started the sluggish engine and began to slowly back up. “Thank you so much, Isaac.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Just took off the gas cap and put it back on.” He started walking toward the back door, his one crutch taking all his weight.

  “You saved the day and you know it,” she called over her shoulder and drove off into the night, her medical bag bouncing in the basket.

  Glancing back, she watched the glow from the house light turn Isaac into a dark shadow as he slipped into the back door, his shoulders stooped. Why did the man have such a hard time accepting compliments? Didn’t he realize how important it was to have a midwife arrive before the baby? She smiled as she drove on into the darkness. Whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, he was her hero tonight, and she’d show him her appreciation somehow.

  * * *

  “Food’s up.”

  Molly scrubbed the last of the dried egg yolk off the table and headed toward the kitchen’s service window. Each step was painful. The new shoes she’d bought on sale tested her patience. She couldn’t wait to get home, take them off and soak her feet in a hot tub of shiny, fragrant bubbles.

  Willa Mae, the owner of the popular cafe since Hurricane Katrina had displaced her, stuck a sprig of parsley on the edge of the plate of steaming home fries and perfect over-easy eggs. She pushed it toward Molly. “Table six, and make it snappy. He seems in a hurry.”

  Putting on her friendly waitress smile, Molly took the plate and hurried over to the lone man sitting in the front booth by the door. His back to her, she placed the large plate in front of the newspaper the dark-haired man was reading and cheerfully rattled off, “Here you go. Fries and eggs. Hope you enjoy them.”

  “I would have enjoyed them more ten minutes ago.” The man’s hand rattled his empty coffee mug to express his neglect.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. We’ve been a bit busy and I... Isaac? Was tut Sie Hier?”

  Pulling his plate closer, he folded his newspaper and looked at Molly. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m hungry and want my second cup of coffee.”

  She hadn’t seen Isaac since he’d repaired the cart for her the day before. “Why didn’t you eat at home? Mamm made pancakes with hot apple-butter early this morning.”

  “I’m a solitary man. I like my own company,” he grumbled as he cut his eggs into perfect bite-sized squares. He leaned over the plate to get the full benefit of a fork full of eggs and home fries. “Now, can I have some coffee to wash down my breakfast?”

  “Ya, of course. I’ll get you coffee right away.”

  Taking a fresh carafe of coffee off the heater, Molly hurried back, reminding herself of the café’s customer service policy. The customer is always right. She’d agreed with the policy when she’d taken the job a year ago, but some days it took perseverance and a cool head to be friendly and courteous to certain patrons who passed through the café door.

  She grimaced as the toe of her built-up shoe hit the edge of Isaac’s booth, but kept a smile plastered on her face. “Let me pour you a fresh cup of coffee.” She went to pour, and before she could stop him, he reached for the tiny container of milk next to his cup.

  Hot coffee splashed his wrist and shirt cuff. He jerked his hand away and reached for a napkin. “Do you really work here, or are you following me around, making sure I get hurt at least once a day?”

  She spoke before she thought, her temper spiked by her throbbing toes and his grumpy words. “Has anyone ever pointed out how rude you are?” She put the carafe on the table harder than necessary. Her hands on her narrow hips, she glared at him, her smile gone. “If not, let me be the first. You are no ray of sunshine, Isaac Graber, and in future I’ll make sure another waitress comes to your table to abuse you.”

  “That’s fine.” He sipped at his coffee and completely ignored her.

  “Fine.” Molly turned on her heel and marched back to her section of the café, her fists clenched, and feeling more like a petulant child than a grown woman.

  Willa Mae flipped several pancakes and then motioned Molly over to the service window. “You’re as red as summer sandals. What happened? That guy get fresh with you?”

  “That guy is Isaac Graber, one of my mamm’s new boarders. Sometimes he makes me so mad.”

  “Let me guess. Did he pinch your backside, child?”

  “No, not at all. He’s...” Molly’s voice trailed off as she searched for the right word. “He’s not exactly weird, you know, just kind of friendly one minute and helpful and then he goes all strange and acts the fool.”

  “Oh. I get it. He’s not showing enough interest in you and you’re mad.”

  Molly straightened her kapp, tied her apron on a bit tighter and snapped, “Nee, that’s not it at all. He keeps accusing me of hurting him on purpose, like I spend my whole day thinking up ways to cause him pain.”

  “You hitting on my customers?”

  “You know perfectly well I’m not. Well... I did hit him in the head with a dust mop the other day, but that was completely his fault, not mine.”

  Sliding a plate of golden pancakes Molly’s way, Willa Mae smiled, her dark weave shiny after standing over the hot grill all morning. “This story just keeps getting better and better. Tell me everything. When are you two making your announcement in church?”

  Molly shot her best friend and boss a look that said it all. “These pancakes go to your gentleman at table six. Enjoy!” Willa Mae grinned.

  * * *

  Four hours later a midday band of rain swept in from the coast, surprising Isaac and leaving him a prisoner in his own shop. An hour passed. Not one customer came through the shop door. His early-morning meal at the café was nothing but a pleasant memory.

  He rubbed his stomach. The wonderful aroma of hot pizza mingled with the less appealing odors of grease and dirt, but still his stomach stirred. An hour later it continued to rumble loudly, begging for lunch. He downed another bottle of water and tried not to think about food, especially the pizza shop next door. He wasn’t about to trust his leg and poor balance on the slippery sidewal
k outside. He would wait until the rain stopped.

  There wasn’t much he could do to pass the time while still on crutches. He called several cleaning businesses and wrote down price quotes. Sticker shock took away some of his appetite. The amounts asked to clear out the trash from the old building was enough to buy another electric golf cart. He’d need more carts to lease to the snowbirds pouring into Pinecraft from the north. The winter tourist season would quickly pass. Every day the bike shop wasn’t open he was losing money—money he needed for a permanent place to live.

  A feeling of defeat swamped him as he looked around the shop, at shelves falling off the walls, trash littering the floor. An ache began to thump at the base of his skull.

  The roar of a high octane engine pulling up to the curb outside drew his attention. He rose, shoving aside pieces of a dismantled blue cart in order to maneuver toward the front door. He leaned against one crutch as he wiped away some of the dried white paint swirled on the storefront windows to block out the sun.

  The side door of a black van labeled Fischer Transport opened and he was surprised to see Molly jumping to the pavement, followed by several stocky Amish men. Women in tidy prayer kapps and plain dresses in a variety of shapes and colors followed close behind. Isaac opened the shop door and was inundated with slaps on the back, smiling faces and so many introductions he’d never remember them all.

  Busy shaking hands with the men and nodding to the women, Isaac took time to glance at Molly and return her enthusiastic grin. Her warm brown eyes seemed to be saying, you didn’t think I’d leave you to clean up this mess on your own, did you?

  A tall, curly-haired blond man with powerful shoulders and a firm handshake squeezed Isaac’s hand. “Willkumm to Pinecraft, Herr Graber. I’m Mose Fischer and this is my bruder’s son, Wilhelm. I’ve heard a lot about you from Molly. I thought I’d come see this youngie she speaks of so fondly, with his fine mind for motors and winning personality.”

  Isaac nodded at the tall man and the skinny teenage boy standing next to him and smiled his welcome as he readjusted the crutch shaken loose from under his arm. “Molly’s been talking to you about me?”