by Marta Perry
Amber tried to see the clinic through Phillip’s eyes. The one-story brick building was devoid of frills. The walls were painted pale blue. The chairs grouped around the small waiting room had worn upholstery. Wilma’s desk, small and crowded by the ancient tan filing cabinets lined up behind it, didn’t make much of a statement.
Their clinic might not look like much, but it was essential to the well-being of their friends and neighbors. Amber wouldn’t let it close without a fight.
“Harold shouldn’t worry,” she said. “We’re managing.”
“Grandfather’s doctors can’t keep his blood pressure under control. He’s not eating. He’s not sleeping well. He needs to concentrate on his recovery and he’s not doing that.” Deep concern vibrated through Phillip’s voice.
A pang stabbed Amber’s heart. “I know Harold’s concerned about us, but I didn’t realize it was affecting his health.”
“Unfortunately, it is. The only way to relieve his anxiety was to find someone to cover his practice. In spite of my best efforts to hire temporary help, I’ve had no success. Clearly, working in a remote Amish community is not an assignment most physicians are eager to take on. In the end, I had to obtain a temporary license to practice in the state of Ohio. I’m here until the tenth of September or until a more permanent solution can be found.”
“You’re taking over the practice?” Amber blinked hard. While she was delighted they were going to have a physician again, for the life of her she couldn’t understand why Harold hadn’t mentioned this tidbit of information. It ranked above bad hospital food and clueless medical students, the subjects of their conversation last night.
Her shock must have shown on her face. Phillip’s eyes narrowed. “Harold did tell you I was coming, didn’t he?”
Amber glanced at Wilma, hoping she’d taken the message. Wilma shook her head. Amber looked back at Phillip. “Ah, no.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. His mind wanders at times. This is additional proof that he is incapable of returning to work.”
Amber wasn’t sure what to think. Harold sounded perfectly rational each time she’d spoken to him on the phone. Could he fool her that easily?
Compelled to defend the man who was her mentor and friend, she said, “Perhaps his pain medication muddled his thinking and he forgot to mention it. He will bounce back. He loves this place and the people here. He says working is what keeps him sane.”
Phillip didn’t look convinced. “We’ll see how it goes. For now, I’m in charge of this practice.”
He jerked his head toward the parking lot visible through the front plate-glass window. A gray horse hitched to a black buggy stood patiently waiting beside the split-rail fence that ringed the property. “Do we put out hay for the horses or do their owners bring their own?”
His satire-laden comment raised Amber’s hackles. The Amish community was tight-knit and wary of outsiders. Harold had earned their trust over thirty years of practicing medicine by respecting their ways, not by poking fun at them.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you were joining some big practice in Honolulu. I’m sure Harold told me that before he left.”
“Under the circumstances my partners have agreed to let me take a two-month leave of absence.”
Wilma finally found the courage to pipe up. “But what if Dr. Harold isn’t back in two months?”
“Then I imagine he won’t be back at all. In that case, the clinic will be closed until another physician can be found. I’m aware there is a real shortage of rural doctors in this state, so you ladies may want to think about job hunting.”
Wilma gasped. Amber wasn’t ready to accept Phillip’s prediction. The community needed this clinic. She needed Harold’s support for her nurse-midwife practice. The people of Hope Springs needed them both.
She chose to remain calm. There was no use getting in a panic. She would put her faith in the Lord and pray harder than ever for Harold’s recovery.
Phillip didn’t seem to notice the turmoil his words caused. He said, “I found the coffeepot but I can’t find any coffee.”
His abrupt change of subject threw her for a second. Recovering, she reached in her bag and withdrew a package of Colombian blend. “We were out. I stopped at the store on my way here.”
“Good. I take mine black. Just bring it to my office.”
Was he trying to annoy her? Everyone was equal in this office. That was Harold’s rule. The person who wanted coffee made it and then offered it to the others. He never expected anyone to wait on him. And it wasn’t Phillip’s office anyway. It still belonged to Harold.
“When can we begin seeing patients?” The object of her ire glanced at his watch.
Wilma advanced around the corner of her desk with a chart in hand. “There is a patient here to see Amber now.”
His frown deepened to a fierce scowl. He pinned Amber with his gaze. “You’re seeing patients?”
Amber knew the legal limits of her profession. She didn’t care for his tone.
Her chin came up. “I am a primary care provider. I do see patients. If you mean am I seeing obstetrical patients, the answer is no. I haven’t been since Harold left. Edna Nissley is sixty-nine. She’s here for a blood pressure check and to have lab work drawn.”
“I see.” His glower lightened.
“People knew Harold was going to be gone, so our schedule has been light. Those patients outside my scope of practice have been sent to a physician in a neighboring town.”
“Plus, we painted all the rooms except Harold’s office and had the carpets cleaned,” Wilma added brightly.
Amber continued to study Phillip. He was a hard man to read. “Someone had to be here to refer patients and fax charts to other doctors. We haven’t exactly been on vacation. We’ve both traveled a lot of miles letting people know what has happened.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Wouldn’t a few phone calls have been easier?”
Smiling with artificial sweetness, Amber said, “It would if our patients had phones. The majority of our clients are Amish, remember?”
“Edna is waiting in room one,” Wilma interjected.
Amber started to walk past Phillip but stopped. She pressed the bag of coffee into his midsection. “I take cream and one sugar. Just leave it on my desk.”
Phillip took the bag. “I’ll let you get to work, Miss Bradley, but there will be changes around here that you and I need to discuss. Come to my office when you’re done.”
Amber didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.
Chapter Two
Phillip watched Amber’s stunning blue-green eyes narrow. She was right to worry. He wasn’t looking forward to the coming conversation. He’d rather see the charming smile she’d greeted him with earlier than the wary expression on her face at the moment.
She was pretty in a small-town-girl kind of way. Her pink cheeks and slightly sunburned nose gave her a wholesome look. She wasn’t tall, but she had a shapely figure he admired. He knew from his grandfather that she wasn’t married. Seeing her, he had to wonder why.
Phillip had listened to his grandfather singing the praises of Nurse-Midwife Bradley for the past year but this woman was nothing like he’d imagined. He had pictured a plump, gray-haired matron, not a pretty, petite woman who didn’t look a day over twenty-five.
Her honey-blond hair was wound into a thick bun at the nape of her neck. How long was it? What would it look like when she wore it down?
Intrigued as he was by the thought, it was her blue-green eyes that drew and held his attention. They were the color of the sea he loved. A calm sea, the kind that made a man want to spend a lifetime gazing over it and soaking in the beauty.
Such romantic musings had to be a by-product of his jet lag. He forced his attention back to the matter at hand. He was going to be working with Miss Bradley. He had no intention of setting up a workplace flirtation. Besides, he’d be lucky if she was still speaking to him by the end of the day.
> He didn’t believe in home deliveries. In his opinion, they were too risky. She wasn’t going to be happy when she learned his stance on the subject.
He hefted the coffee bag. Perhaps it was best to give her this small victory before the confrontation. “Cream with one sugar. Got it.”
He left her to see her patient and retreated to the small refreshment room beside his grandfather’s office. Making coffee took only a few minutes. As he waited for the pot to fill, he studied the array of mugs hanging from hooks beneath the cabinet. Which one belonged to Amber?
He ruled out the white one that said World’s Greatest Grandma in neon pink letters. Beside it hung two plain black mugs, one with a chipped lip. Somehow he knew those belonged to his grandfather. That left either the white cup with yellow daises around the rim or the sky blue mug with 1 John 3:18 printed in dark blue letters.
1 John 3:18. He pulled down the mug. He didn’t know his Bible well enough to hazard a guess at the meaning of the passage, but he filed it away to look up later.
Studying medicine, working as a resident and then setting up a practice had consumed his life. All of which left him time to eat or maybe sleep, but rarely both. Even his surfing time had dropped to almost nothing. Bible study had fallen by the wayside, but it looked as if he’d have some free time now. How busy could he be in a small town like this? The next two months stretched before him like an eternity.
He’d do his best while he was here. He knew how much this place meant to his grandfather. Taking over until things were settled was the least he could do. After all, it was his fault Harold wasn’t here.
Putting aside that painful memory, Phillip carried the blue mug to the coffee dispenser. If this wasn’t Amber’s cup, at least it was clean. He filled it, then added the creamer and sugar. Taking down the grandmother mug, he filled it, too. After stuffing a couple of sugar and creamer packages in his pocket, he carried the cups to the front desk.
Wilma was on the phone, so he set her cup on the corner and held up the condiments in a silent query. She shook her head and mouthed the words, “Just black.” She reached for the mug, took a quick sip, then continued her conversation. That left him with Amber’s cup in hand.
He’d already discovered the clinic layout when he’d arrived early that morning. He knew Amber’s office was the one beside his grandfather’s, while two exam rooms occupied the opposite side of the short hallway.
Entering her office, he took note of the plain white walls devoid of pictures or mementos. The starkness didn’t seem to fit her vibrant personality. Her furniture was another story.
Her desk was a simple-yet-graceful cherrywood piece with curved legs and a delicately carved matching chair. Her computer sat on a small stand beside the desk, as if she couldn’t bear to put something so modern on such a classic piece. Everything about the room was neat and tidy. He liked that.
After setting her cup on a coaster at the edge of her desk, he returned to his grandfather’s office. Nothing in it remotely hinted at neat or tidy.
Stacks of medical journals, books and file folders sat on every flat surface. Some had meandered to the floor around his grandfather’s chair. The tall bookcases on the back wall were crammed full of textbooks. A number of them had pieces of paper sticking out the tops as if to mark important places.
Harold’s computer sat squarely in the middle of his large oak desk. On either side of the monitor were two pictures. Phillip reached past the photo of himself standing by his surfboard to pick up a framed portrait of a young man in a marine dress uniform.
He’d seen this picture before. One like it hung in his grandfather’s house where he’d spent the night last night. A third copy sat in a box at the back of his mother’s closet. The young marine was the father he never knew.
Phillip searched the face that looked so much like his own. All his life he’d aspired to be a person his father would have been proud of. He got good grades, played baseball, learned to surf, things his mother told him his father had done or wanted to do. His dad was even the reason he’d become a physician.
As a child he’d hungered for any crumb of information his mother would share about his dad. Those crumbs were all too rare. Whenever he would ask questions about his father, her reply was always the same: it was too painful to talk about that time of her life.
He could understand that. Much of his early life was painful to talk about, too.
Engrossed in the past, he didn’t hear the door open. He thought he was alone until Amber spoke. “You look like him.”
He set the picture back in its place. “So I’ve been told.”
Amber moved to stand at his side. “I can see it in the arch of your brow and your square chin, but especially your eyes.”
“Did you know he was killed in action?”
“I asked Harold once what happened to his son. He said he didn’t want to talk about it. I never asked again.”
“My father was killed in some third world country trying to rescue American citizens who’d been kidnapped.”
“You must be very proud of him.”
It was hard to be proud of an image on paper. Yet it had been the picture that led Phillip to his grandfather. Finding Harold had been like a gift from God.
What Phillip still didn’t understand was why his mother had kept his grandfather’s existence a secret for more than thirty years. She’d been furious when he announced he had contacted Harold. She wouldn’t say why.
Many of his questions about his father had been answered in the long phone conversations he and Harold had shared, but like his mother, Harold refused to talk about his relationship with his daughter-in-law. It seemed the reason for the family breakup might never come to light.
Amber cleared her throat. “You wanted to talk to me?”
Her voice broke his connection with the past and catapulted him into the present. Face-to-face with a task he knew would be distasteful.
How was she going to take it? He hated scenes. His mother had made enough of them in his life.
He lifted a stack of medical journals from a chair and added them to a precarious pile on the desk. “Please, have a seat.”
When she did, Phillip hesitated a few seconds, but quickly decided there was no point beating around the bush. Pulling out his grandfather’s chair, he sat behind the desk and faced her. “I’ve been doing some research on Ohio midwifery.”
A look of surprise brightened her eyes. “That’s great. It’s very important that I resume my practice as soon as possible. I have four patients due this month. Without Harold available, I’ve had to send them to a clinic that’s twenty miles from here. That’s a hardship for families who travel by horse and buggy. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to be getting back to my real work.”
He hated knowing he was about to crush her excitement. “You have a collaborative practice agreement only with my grandfather, is that correct?”
“Yes, but I can easily modify the agreement, listing you as my primary backup. I’ll print off a copy ASAP. You can sign it and I can start seeing patients again.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
A puzzled look replaced the happiness on her face. Then she relaxed and nodded. “Yes, you can. In this state, I’m not required to partner with an OB/GYN. I can legally work with a Family Practice physician.”
“I’m aware of that. I’m telling you I won’t sign such an agreement. I strongly believe the safest place for a woman to labor, give birth and recover is in a hospital or a well-equipped birthing center near a hospital.”
Amber shot to her feet. “Are you serious? Do you know what this means?”
Sitting forward, he steepled his fingers together. “It means you can’t legally deliver babies or treat patients as a midwife unless you agree to do so in a hospital.”
It took less than a second for the storm brewing behind her stunning eyes to erupt. She leaned forward and braced her arms on the desktop. Each word could have cut stone. “Your gran
dfather and I have worked diligently to get the Amish women in this community to use a certified nurse-midwife instead of an illegal lay midwife. There are still numerous Amish midwives practicing under the radar in this area. Some of them are highly skilled, but some are not. I have the equipment and training to handle emergencies that arise. I’m well qualified. I’ve delivered over five hundred babies.”
“All without complications?”
Her outrage dimmed. Caution replaced it. “There have been a few problems. I carry a cell phone and can get emergency services quickly if they’re needed.”
“I’m sorry, this isn’t open for discussion. As long as I’m here, there will be no home deliveries. However, I’d like you to remain as my office nurse. We’ll talk later about you handling hospital deliveries.”
Pushing off his desk, she crossed her arms. “Does Harold know you’re shutting down my practice?”
He thought he was being patient with her, but now he glared back. “I don’t intend to worry my grandfather with the day-to-day running of the office nor should you. His recovery depends on decreasing his stress level.”
“Oh, rest assured, I won’t go tattle to him. But you’re making a big mistake. You can’t change the way the Amish live by dictating to them. If I’m not doing home deliveries, someone else less qualified will.”
Spinning on her heels, she marched out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
Clenching his jaw, Phillip sat back. He had hoped Miss Bradley would be reasonable about this. It seemed he was mistaken. Too bad. He wasn’t about to back down on this issue. No matter what the lovely nurse-midwife wanted.
Chapter Three
“If that man thinks I’m gonna lay down and take this, he has another think coming!”
Three days after her first unhappy meeting with Phillip, Amber was still fuming. They had been working together getting the clinic back up and running full-time, but things remained tense. He refused to alter his stance on home births.
Amber sat at a back booth in the Shoofly Pie Café with her friend, Katie Lantz, across from her. Katie was dressed in the traditional Plain style with a solid green dress, white apron and a white organdy prayer kapp covering her dark hair. Amber knew outsiders would never suspect Katie had once lived in the English world. The room was empty except for the two women.
