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The Doctor's Blessing
Patricia Davids


As a nurse-midwife in Amish country, Amber Bradley helps expectant mothers have their babies safely at home. But when Hope Springs' new doctor arrives, he insists all maternity patients deliver at a hospital.Amber is determined to show Dr. Phillip White that the Amish have a different way of life, one he needs to respect if he expects any patients at all. But even as he becomes more a part of the community, Amber must remember his stay is just temporary. Unless she can convince Phillip he's found the home–and heart–he's always been looking for.









“When can we begin seeing patients, again?” Amber asked.


Philip’s gaze deepened into a fierce scowl. “You’re planning on seeing maternity patients?”

Amber didn’t care for his tone. “I haven’t since Harold left, but now that you’re here, I have one waiting now.”

“I see.” His glower lightened.

Amber continued to study him. He was a hard man to read. “We haven’t exactly been on vacation while we waited for you to arrive. We’ve traveled a lot of miles letting people know what happened.”

He raised an eybrow. “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?”

“I’ll let you get to work, 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.




PATRICIA DAVIDS


After thirty-five years as a nurse, Pat has hung up her stethoscope to become a full-time writer. She enjoys spending her new free time visiting her grandchildren, doing some long overdue yard work and traveling to research her story locations. She resides with her husband in Wichita, Kansas. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can visit her on the Web at www.patriciadavids.com.




The Doctor’s Blessing

Patricia Davids







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


My little children, let us not love in word or in tongue, but in deed and in truth.

—1 John 3:18


To Terrah in Kansas City and to Rachel in Poland, Ohio. Bless you both for all your help. This book is dedicated to nurse-midwives everywhere.

Women helping women bring healthy babies into loving families.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


“Amber, you won’t believe who’s here!”

The agitated whisper stopped Amber Bradley in her tracks halfway through the front door of the Hope Springs Medical Clinic. She glanced around the small waiting room. The only occupant was her wide-eyed receptionist standing at her desk with one finger pressed to her lips.

Amber whispered back, “I give up, Wilma. Who’s here?”

The tiny, sixty-something woman glanced toward the hallway leading to the offices and exam rooms, then hurried around the corner of her desk wringing her hands. “Dr. Phillip White.”

Oh, no. Amber closed the door with deliberate slowness. So the ax was going to fall on their small-town clinic in spite of everyone’s prayers. What would they do now? What would happen to their patients? Her heart sank at the prospect.

Please, dear Lord, don’t let this happen.

Composing herself, she turned to face Wilma. “What did he say? Is Harold worse?”

“He said Harold is the reason he needs to meet with us, but he wanted to wait until you were here before going into details.”

Dr. Harold White was the only doctor in the predominantly Amish community of Hope Springs, Ohio. Four weeks earlier, he’d taken his first vacation in more than twenty years to visit his grandson, Phillip, in Honolulu. While there, a serious accident landed the seventy-five-year-old man in intensive care.

Wilma leaned close. “What do you think he’s doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

“You think he’s here to close the office, don’t you?”

Amber couldn’t come up with another reason that made more sense. Harold’s only relative had come to close the clinic and inform them that Harold wouldn’t be returning.

At least he was kind enough to come in person instead of delivering the news over the phone.

Amber had been expecting something like this since she’d learned the extent of Harold’s injuries. Chances were slim a man his age could make a full recovery after suffering a broken leg, a fractured skull and surgery to remove a blood clot on his brain. Still, Harold hadn’t given up hope that he’d be back, so neither would she.

Summoning a smile for her coworker, Amber laid a hand on Wilma’s shoulder. “When I spoke to Harold last night, he assured me the clinic would stay open.”

“For now.” The deep male voice came from behind them.

Wilma squeaked as she spun around. Amber had a better grip on her emotions. Wilma hurried away to the safety of her oak desk in the corner, leaving Amber to face the newcomer alone. She surveyed Harold’s grandson with interest.

Dr. Phillip White was more imposing than she had expected. He stood six foot at least, if not a shade taller. His light brown hair, streaked with sun-bleached highlights, curled slightly where it touched the collar of his blue, button-down shirt. His bronze tan emphasized his bone structure and the startling blue of his eyes.

He was movie-star gorgeous. The thought popped into Amber’s brain and stuck. She licked her suddenly dry lips. When had she met a man who triggered such intense awareness at first glance? Okay, never.

Rejecting her left-field thoughts as totally irrelevant, Amber tried for a professional smile. Moving forward, she held out her hand. “Welcome to Hope Springs, Dr. White.”

His grip, firm and oddly stirring, made her pulse spike and her breathing quicken. He held her hand a fraction longer than necessary. When he let go, she shoved her hands in the front pockets of her white lab coat, curling her fingers into tight balls.

Striving to appear unruffled, she said, “Your grandfather speaks of you frequently. I never saw him so excited as the day he learned of your existence.”

His expression remained carefully blank. “I’m sure my happiness was equal to his.”

Little warning bells started going off in Amber’s brain. He wasn’t here to make friends. Her smile grew stiff. “Of course, it can’t be every day a grown man discovers he has a grandfather he never knew about.”

Up close, Phillip’s resemblance to Harold was undeniable. They shared the same intense blue eyes, strong chin and full lips. But not, it seemed, Harold’s friendly demeanor. Still, she cast aside any lingering doubts that the whole thing was a hoax. They were obviously related.

She said, “Isn’t it strange that both of you became family practice doctors. It must be in the genes. I’d love to hear the whole story. Harold was vague about the details.”

A cooler expression entered Phillip’s eyes. “It’s a personal matter that I’m not comfortable discussing.”

Oops! It seemed she’d stumbled on a touchy subject. “I’m sorry Harold’s holiday with you ended so badly.”

“As am I.” His lips pressed into a tighter line.

Amber indicated their receptionist. “I take it you’ve met Mrs. Nolan? Wilma has worked for your grandfather since he came to Hope Springs over thirty years ago.”

He nodded in Wilma’s direction. “Yes, we’ve met.”

“And I’m Amber Bradley.” She waited with bated breath for his reaction. She knew Harold had told his grandson about their collaborative practice.

Phillip’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the midwife.”

There it was, that touch of disdain in his voice that belittled her profession, dismissed her education and years of training as if they were nothing. She’d heard it before from physicians and even nurses. It seemed young Dr. White didn’t value her occupation the way his grandfather did.

She stood as tall as her five-foot-three frame allowed. “Yes, I’m a certified nurse midwife. It’s my vocation as well as my job.”

“Vocation? That’s a strong word.”

“It is what it is.”

Was that a flicker of respect in his eyes? Maybe she had jumped the gun in thinking he disapproved.

Bracing herself, she asked the unspoken question that hovered in the air. “What brings you to Hope Springs, Dr. White?”

He glanced around the small office. “Harold is fretting himself sick over this place.”

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 grandfather 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.

“What can you do about it?” Katie’s lilting voice carried a rich Pennsylvania Dutch accent. She took a sip of hot tea from a heavy white mug.

“I’m thinking.” Amber drummed her fingers on the red Formica tabletop.

“You’ll lose your license if you deliver babies, ja?”

“Ja. Unless I find another doctor who’ll support me.”

Katie brightened. “Why not ask Dr. Drake over in Haydenville?”

“Because Doctor Drake, great doctor that she is, is a DO, a Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine. The state requires my backup to be a Family Practice physician or OB/GYN. Most clinics and MDs won’t partner with a midwife who does home births. They don’t want to pay the huge malpractice insurance fees that go along with it. Dr. Harold is one of the few physicians who’ll take the risk.”

“Because the Amish do not sue.”

“Right.”

“This is not so easy a problem to solve.” Katie tapped her lower lip with one finger.

Propping an elbow on the table, Amber settled her chin on her hand. “I wish I could talk to Harold about it.”

“Why can’t you? It is his office. He should have some say in how it is being run.”

“The last thing he needs is to hear his beloved long-lost grandson and I are at loggerheads. In that respect, Phillip is right. Harold doesn’t need more stress. When he’s better and comes home, things will get back to normal. In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for a doctor who’ll partner with me. Until then, I’ll have to bear with Dr. Phillip while I work on changing his mind.”

“I have met your doctor. He had lunch here yesterday. He’s a handsome man.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Is he handsome? I hadn’t noticed.”

“For an Englisher, he’s not bad. Those dark eyes are hot.”

“They’re blue, and a good Amish woman should not say a man is ‘hot.’”

Katie giggled. “I am Amish, I am not dead. If you know what color his eyes are, you’ve been looking, too.”

“Okay, I noticed he is a nice-looking man, but handsome is as handsome does. What he’s doing isn’t handsome.”

“You’re right. Elam’s sister, Mary, will be so upset if she must go to the hospital to have this baby. She didn’t have a good experience there with her first child.”

Elam Sutter was a special someone in Katie’s life. He and his mother, Nettie, took her in when she had returned from the English world destitute and pregnant. That act of kindness had blossomed into love for the pair. His sister, Mary Yutzi, had only recently become a patient of Amber’s.

“Elam’s mother convinced Mary you would do a better job. For less money, too.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Amber’s mouth. “I’m glad Nettie Sutter thinks I do good work. Thank her for the recommendation.”

It had taken years but Amber was finally finding acceptance among the majority of the Amish in the area. People like Nettie Sutter were the key. Older and respected, their word counted for a lot with the younger women in the community.

Amber took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth of the gourmet blend soothe away some of her irritation. “Two of my expectant mothers have appointments today. I’ll let them know what’s going on when they come to the office. As for the rest of my clients, I can visit their homes on Sunday to explain things and prepare them.”

“It is our church Sunday. Everyone will be at Levi Troyer’s farm. It will save you some miles if you come there after the service.”

“Thank you. If you’re sure it’s all right, I’ll drop in. Of course, I might not need to. In this tight-knit community, the word may have spread already.”

“Ja, you could be right.”

“How is Elam, by the way?” Amber smiled in spite of her unhappiness as a blush bloomed in Katie’s cheeks.

A soft smile curved her lips. “He is well.”

“And the wedding? When will it be?”

Katie’s eyes grew round. “What?”

Amber started laughing. “The whole countryside is talking about how much celery Elam planted this year. It won’t come as a surprise to anyone when you have the banns read.”

Creamed celery was a traditional food served at every Amish wedding. Leafy stalks of it were also used to decorate the tables. When a family’s garden contained a big crop of celery, everyone knew there would be a wedding in the fall.

Blushing sweetly, Katie dropped her gaze. “We don’t speak of such things before the time comes.”

Amish marriage banns were read only a few weeks before the wedding. Until then, the engagement was kept a secret, sort of. Speculating about who would be getting hitched during the months of November and December was a popular pastime.

Amber said, “I’m sorry to tease.”

Katie glanced around, then leaned close. “Not all of the celery is for Elam and me.”

“Really?” Amber was intrigued. Elam lived with his widowed mother. All his sisters and older brothers were already married.

Sitting back, Katie smiled. “I will say no more.”

“Now you’ve got me curious. Is someone courting Nettie?”

“Perhaps, but she isn’t the only one with a new beau.” Leaning forward, Katie tipped her head toward her boss. Emma Wadler was busy cleaning behind the counter.

“Emma and who?” Amber whispered.

Katie refused to comment. Knowing when to give up, Amber said, “I’m sure you and Elam will be very happy together.”

“And Rachel.”

“That’s right, we can’t forget little Rachel. She was my five-hundredth delivery. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No. Looking back all those months ago, I thought it was the worst night of my life. I was unwed, homeless and without family. I didn’t see how things could get much worse. I couldn’t see it would become the best night of my life. I met Elam, I met you, my friend, and I had a beautiful baby girl. Gott has a plan for us even when we can’t see it.”

“If you’re trying to tell me God will take care of my troubles, I already know that. But I can’t sit idly by. I’ve got to take action. Get my own ox out of the well, if you will.”

Katie stirred a drizzle of honey into her tea. “I might be able to help.”

“How?”

“Perhaps I should talk with some of Elam’s family before I say anything. This may be a matter to bring before the church district.”

Frowning in concern, Amber said, “I don’t want you to do anything that will cause trouble for you, Katie. I know you recently took your vows and were baptized into the Amish Church.”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about the women who are depending on you.”

They were the reason Amber was upset, not for herself. She glanced at her watch. “I should get back to the office. Dr. Phillip is trying to organize some of Harold’s files. Truthfully, they need it. Harold has a terrible time putting things in their place.”

“A day with the furchtbar Dr. Phillip and old files. Sounds like poor fun to me.”

“He’s not terrible. I’m wrong to make him sound that way. The community needs a doctor while Harold is gone and Phillip has put his own career on hold to come here.”

“Ja, we do need a doctor.”

“Even if he’s a wonderful doctor, I just can’t like him. He’s so different from Harold,” Amber muttered, knowing it made her sound like a petulant third grader.

Rising, Katie chuckled. “We must forgive those who trespass against us, Amber.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I’m working on it.”

“And I also must get back to work.”

“I haven’t asked before, but do you like your job here at the Inn?” The café was part of the Wadler Inn, run by Emma and her elderly mother.

“Emma is a good woman to work for. Her mother enjoys watching Rachel while I work. It does fine for me now.”

“Until you marry and become a stay-at-home wife and mother.”

Grinning, Katie nodded. “Ja, until then.”

Amber paid her bill and headed for the door. Being a wife and mother was something she’d always wanted, but it hadn’t come her way.

Not that it was too late. She was only twenty-nine. So what if most of her Amish clients that age already had three or four children? Meeting an eligible man who wasn’t Amish was as likely as finding hen’s teeth in Hope Springs.

As she opened the door, Amber saw Phillip coming out of the hardware store across the street. He caught sight of her at the same moment. She either had to be civil or pretend she was in a hurry and rush away. Tough choice.



Phillip halted at the sight of Amber framed in the doorway of the Shoofly Pie Café, an unappetizing name if he’d ever heard one. Once again he was struck by how lovely she was. Today she wore a simple yellow dress with short sleeves. Her hair hung over her shoulder in a single braid that reached her waist. Now he knew how long it was. Obviously, she hadn’t cut it in many years. It was a nice touch of old-fashioned feminine charm.

They stood staring at each other for several long seconds until a man with a thick black beard and a straw hat stopped in front of Phillip. Realizing he was blocking the door, Phillip stepped out of the way. By the time he looked back, Amber was on her way down the sidewalk heading toward the clinic. He sprinted after her, cutting between two buggies rolling down the avenue.

He and Amber had both been doing their jobs at the clinic, but it didn’t take a genius to see she was still upset. Her icy stares and monosyllablic replies weren’t going unnoticed by their patients. Somehow he had to find a way to break through her anger. Phillip couldn’t handle the practice by himself. There was more to medicine than treating symptoms.

Good medicine had physical, emotional and spiritual components. Amber had what he didn’t yet have in Hope Springs. A familiarity with the people he would be treating and knowledge of the inner workings of the town.

He needed to reach some kind of common ground with her if she could get past his stance on home deliveries. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed her help to keep his grandfather’s clinic running smoothly.

Besides, the last thing he wanted was to tell Harold that he’d driven away the irreplaceable Miss Bradley. During their brief phone conversation last night, Harold once again sang her many praises. If Phillip didn’t know better, he might have thought the old man was playing matchmaker.

After crossing the street at a jog, Phillip reached Amber’s side and shortened his stride to match hers. “Morning, Miss Bradley.”

“Good morning, Doctor.”

“Are you on your way to the office?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at his watch. “You’re a little early, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

In spite of the warm summer sun there was no sign of thawing on her part. He said, “We didn’t see many patients yesterday. Can I expect our patient load to be so light every day?”

“No.”

This didn’t bode well for the rest of the day. “The weather has been agreeable. Are summers in Ohio always this nice?”

“No.”

Getting nowhere, he decided to try a different tack.

Phillip saw an Amish family walking toward them. The man with his bushy beard nodded slightly. His wife kept her eyes averted, but their children gawked at them as they passed by. One of them, a teenage boy, was a dwarf. A group of several young men in straw hats and Amish clothing walked behind the group. None of the younger men wore beards.

When they were out of earshot, Phillip asked, “Why is it that only some Amish men have beards?”

He waited patiently for her answer. They passed two more shops before she obliged him. “An Amish man grows a beard when he marries.”

“Okay, why don’t they have mustaches?”

“Mustaches were associated with the military in Europe before the Amish immigrated to this country so they are forbidden.”

“From what I understand, a lot of things are forbidden…TV, ordinary clothes, a car.”

She shot him a sour look and kept walking.

That was dumb. Criticizing the Amish wasn’t the way to mend fences. “Sorry, that was a stupid remark. Guess I’m nervous.”

She kept walking, ignoring his bait. Either she had great patience, grim determination or a total lack of curiosity about him.

He gave in first. “I’m nervous because I know you’re upset with me.”

“Ya think?” She didn’t slow down.

Spreading his hands wide, he waved them side to side. “I’m getting that vibe. People say I’m sensitive that way.”

Had he coaxed a hint of a smile? She looked down before he could be sure.

“Amber, we’ve gotten off to a bad start. I know you must blame me for Harold’s injuries. I blame myself.”

She stopped abruptly. A puzzled frown settled between her alluring eyes. “Why would I blame you for Harold’s accident?”




Chapter Four


Stunned by Amber’s question, Phillip could only stare. She didn’t know? How was that possible? More to the point, once she found out would it kill any chance of a better working relationship? He had opened a can of worms and didn’t know how to shut it. She was waiting for his answer.

“Harold hasn’t told you how the accident happened?” Phillip cringed at the memory.

“He said he foolishly stepped into the path of an oncoming car.”

Phillip stiffened his spine, bracing for the worst possible reaction from Amber. “I was driving that car.”

When the silence lengthened, he expected an angry or horror-filled outburst. He didn’t expect the compassion that slowly filled her eyes.

Encouraged, he forged ahead. “It was the last night of his visit. We’d had an argument. I dropped him off at his hotel. I was angry and waiting impatiently for a chance to pull out into the heavy traffic. When a break came, I gunned it.”

He’d never forgive himself for what happened next. “I should have been paying more attention. I should have seen him, but he rushed out from between two parked cars right in front of me. I couldn’t stop.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “That must have been terrible for you.”

“I thought I killed him.” Phillip relived that terrifying moment, that horrific sound, every time he closed his eyes.

Quietly, Amber said, “Thank you for telling me. I can understand how hard it was for you. I want you to know I don’t blame you. An accident is an accident. Things happen for a reason only God knows.”

Phillip’s pent-up guilt seeped out of his bones, leaving him light-headed with relief. “Now, can we work together without those frosty silences between us?”

He knew he’d made a mistake when her look of compassion changed to annoyance. “I don’t blame you for what happened in Hawaii. I do blame you for making me feel marginalized and ridiculed for my career choice. For brushing aside my years of training and my skills as if they were nothing. I’m proud to be a nurse-midwife.”

Taken aback, he snapped, “Wait a minute. I did not ridicule you. I stated my opinion about home childbirth. An opinion that is shared by the American Medical Association, as I’m sure you know.”

“And so far, not upheld by the courts, as I’m sure you know. Childbirth is not a medical condition. It is a normal, natural part of life.” She started walking again.

Catching up with her, he said, “But it can become a medical emergency in a matter of minutes. I’m sorry we can’t agree on this. However, if we’re going to be working together we need to agree on some other important issues.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “Such as?”

“That my grandfather’s practice is important to him. Both you and I are important to him. He wouldn’t want us at odds with each other.”

He detected a softening in her rigid posture. Finally, she admitted, “That’s true.”

“Right. We can also agree that the clinic needs to run smoothly, that I don’t know where to buy groceries in Hope Springs and I haven’t found a barbershop. Can you help a guy out?”

She did smile at that. “The grocery store is at the corner of Plum and Maple. Take a left at the next block and go three blocks east. The barbershop backs up to our building. Go through the alley to Vine Street. It’ll be on your left. And yes, the clinic needs to run smoothly. Our patients deserve our best.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was grudgingly given, but he’d won a small victory. “I also don’t know what labs Mrs. Nissley had done. I couldn’t find her chart.”

“I was checking her hemoglobin A1c. She’s a diabetic. Ask Wilma for any charts you can’t find. She has her own system of filing because so many of our patients have the same names.”

“Why is that?”

“Most Amish are descendants of a small group who came to this country in the seventeen hundreds. It is forbidden to marry outside of their faith so very few new names have come into the mix.”

By now they had reached the clinic. He held open the door and she went in ahead of him. To his surprise he saw they already had a waiting room full of people. Word was getting around that there was a new doctor in town.

It seemed that more one-on-one time with Amber would have to wait. He should have walked more slowly.

She leaned over and said quietly, “Something you should know. The Amish don’t run to the doctor for every little thing. They are usually quite sick when they come to us. When they find a ‘good doctor,’ they send all their family and friends to him.”

“And if I’m not a good doctor, in their opinion?”

“We’ll lose Amish clients very quickly and we’ll be out of business in no time. So, no pressure.”

“Right. No pressure.”

The day passed quickly. True to Amber’s prediction, many of the patients Phillip treated had been putting off seeing a doctor since his grandfather’s departure. Two bad cuts had become serious infections. A young mill worker with a gash on his arm and a high fever had to be sent to the hospital in Millersburg for IV antibiotics.

After that, he saw a young Amish woman who’d come to see Amber for her prenatal visits. After he explained the current situation, his patient got up and left his exam room without a word. In the waiting room, she spoke to a second expectant mother. The two left together. Amber followed them outside and talked with them briefly.

Was she smoothing things over or throwing gasoline on the fire?

His next patient was a three-year-old Amish girl with a severe cough. The shy toddler was also a dwarf, and she wanted nothing to do with him. She kept pushing his stethoscope away each time he tried to listen to her chest.

Mrs. Lapp, her worried mother, apologized. Amber moved forward to help restrain the child. “Doctor, Helen doesn’t speak English yet. She won’t learn it until she goes to school. The Amish speak Pennsylvania Deitsh at home, a German dialect.”

Glancing up at her, he said, “I thought it was Dutch.”

“It’s commonly called Pennsylvania Dutch but that’s an Americanization of the term Deitsh,” Amber replied.

He said, “Don’t hold her down, it will only frighten her. What we need is a little help from Doctor Dog.”

Reaching into a drawer on the exam table, he withdrew a hand puppet, a fuzzy brown dog with floppy ears, a white lab coat and a miniature stethoscope around his neck. Looking down at the toy, Phillip said, “Dr. Dog, I’d like you to meet Helen Lapp.”

“Hello, Helen,” the puppet chirped in a falsetto voice as he waved one stubby arm.

Phillip heard Amber giggle behind him. Helen sat up with a hesitant smile on her face.

The puppet scratched his head with his paw. “What’s wrong with you, Helen? Are you sick?”

Helen’s mother translated for her. The girl nodded, never taking her eyes off the toy.

Swinging the puppet around to face himself, Phillip asked in his puppet voice, “Aren’t you going to make her better, Dr. White?”

“I’m trying but Helen is afraid of me.”

“She is?” Turning to face the little girl, Dr. Dog asked, “Are you afraid of Dr. White?”

Her mother asked her the question in Pennsylvania Dutch. Helen glared at Phillip and nodded.

Dr. Dog rubbed his nose. “But you aren’t scared of me, are you?”

When her mother stopped speaking, Helen shook her head. Reaching out tentatively, she patted the dog’s head then giggled. Her laughter quickly became a harsh cough.

Dr. Dog asked, “Can I listen to your chest?”

Helen leaned back against her mother but didn’t object. Using Dr. Dog to grasp his stethoscope, Phillip listened to the child. When he was done with the exam, Dr. Dog thanked Helen, shook hands with her and her mother, then returned to his drawer. Helen continued to watch the drawer as if he might pop out again.

As Phillip wrote out a prescription for Helen, Amber leaned close. “Very clever.”

More pleased than he should have been by that simple compliment, he continued with his work. Helen had him deeply concerned.

Turning to her mother, he handed her the prescription and said, “I hear a loud murmur in Helen’s heart, a noise that shouldn’t be there. I’d like for her to see a specialist.”

The woman stared at the note in her hand. “Will this medicine make her better?”

“I believe so, but she needs to see a heart doctor. I’ll have Amber make an appointment. I believe Helen’s heart condition is making her cough worse.”

The mother nodded. Relieved, he looked to Amber. She said, “I’ll take care of it.”

He saw several more townspeople after that with assorted coughs and colds. Then two young Amish brothers came in with poison ivy from head to toe. Their mother explained her usual home remedy had failed to help.

He asked for her recipe and jotted it down. He then ordered a steroid shot for each of the boys. Afterward, he gave their mother a prescription for an ointment to be used twice a day, but encouraged her to continue her own treatment as well.

When they left, Amber remained in the room.

“Yes?” He kept writing on the chart without looking up.

“Why didn’t you have her discontinue her home remedy? It clearly isn’t working.”

“There was nothing in it that would interfere with the medication I prescribed. It should even give the boys some added relief. Mostly, it will make her feel better to be doing something for them.” He snapped the chart shut. “What’s next?”

His final patient of the day turned out to be an Amish woman with a badly swollen wrist.

Amber stood by the counter as Phillip pulled his chair up beside the young Mrs. Nissley. Her first name was Martha. She held her arm cradled across her stomach.

Phillip said, “May I see your wrist, please?”

Taking it gently, he palpated it, feeling for any obvious breaks. “Tell me what happened.”

“The dog scared my Milch cow, and she kicked. She missed the dog but hit me.”

He winced. “Sounds painful.”

“Ja. That it is.”

He admired her stoicism. “You’re the first cow-kick victim I’ve treated in my career. In spite of that, the only way to be certain it isn’t broken is to get an X-ray. Are you related to Edna Nissley?”

“Which Edna Nissley?”

He struggled to find a description since they dressed alike and seemed so similar. “She’s an older lady. Short, kind of stout. Oh, she drives a gray horse.”

“That is my husband’s uncle’s wife. The other Edna Nissley is the wife of my husband’s cousin William. Little Edna Nissley is the daughter of my husband’s youngest brother, Daniel.”

“Okay.” A confusing family history if he’d ever heard one. He glanced at Amber. “I’ll need AP and Lateral X-rays of the left wrist. Mrs. Nissley, is there any chance you may be pregnant?”

“Nee. At least, I don’t think so.”

He looked at Amber. “Make sure she wears a lead apron just in case.”

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later he had the films in hand. Putting them up on the light box, he indicated the wrist bones for his patient to see.

“I don’t detect a break. What you have is a bad sprain and some nasty bruising. I’ll wrap it with an elastic bandage to compress the swelling. Rest it and ice it. I want you to keep the arm elevated. Is there a problem with doing any of those things?”

“Can I milk the cow?”

He tried not to smile. “If you can do it with one hand or with your toes.”

She grinned. “I have children and a helpful husband.”

“Good. Here’s a prescription for some pain medication if you need it. See me again if it isn’t better by the end of the week.”

When Mrs. Nissley left he saw the waiting room was finally empty. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly four in the afternoon. More tired than he cared to admit, Phillip retreated to his grandfather’s office and sank gratefully into Harold’s padded, brown leather chair. If his seventy-five-year-old grandfather kept this kind of pace, he was hardier than Phillip gave him credit for.

After only five minutes of downtime, a knock sounded at his door. Sighing, he called out, “Yes?”

Amber poked her head in. “I have a ham sandwich. Would you like to share?”

His stomach rumbled at the mention of food, reminding him he’d had nothing but one cup of coffee since he’d left the house that morning. “I’d love a sandwich. Thank you.”

She entered and whisked a plate from behind her back. “I thought you might say that.”

He took her offering and made a place for the paper dinnerware on his desk. “Why don’t you and Wilma join me?”

“Wilma has gone home.”

“Then will you join me?” He held his breath as he waited for her reply.



Amber hesitated. It was one thing to work with Phillip. It was a whole other thing to share a meal with him.

He said, “Don’t tell me you’ve never joined Harold for a late lunch.”

“Of course I have.”

“Then what’s the problem? Afraid I’ll bite or afraid you won’t be able to resist stabbing me with a knife?”

“All I have is a plastic fork, so you’re safe on that score.”

“Good.” He lifted the upper slice of bread and peered inside. “You didn’t lace this with an overdose of digoxin, did you?”

“And slow your heart until it stopped?” She snapped her fingers. “Wish I’d thought of it. Then Dr. Dog could take over. Thanks for the idea.”

Grinning, Amber left the room and returned to the break room to get her half of the sandwich. It seemed Dr. Phillip had a sense of humor. It was one more point in his favor. The most impressive thing about him, good looks aside, was how he dealt with patients.

During the long, exhausting day he had listened to them. He discussed his plans of care in simple terms. And he was great with children. She liked that about him.

He could be a good replacement for Harold. If only she could change his mind about her midwife services.

Looking heavenward, she said, “Please, Lord, heal Harold and send him back to us quickly. In the meantime, give me the right words to help Phillip see the need the Amish have for my work.”

With her plate in hand, she returned to his office. She saw he’d been busy clearing off another spot on the opposite side of the desk. She pulled over a chair and sat down. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath then silently said a blessing over her meal.

“Sitting down feels good, doesn’t it?” Phillip asked.

She nodded. “You can say that again.”

“Is the clinic normally this busy?”

“We serve a large rural area besides the town. Today was busier than usual but not by much.”

He took a big bite of his sandwich. “This is good,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

“I picked it up at the café this morning.”

“Okay, I have to know. Why is it called the Shoofly Pie Café?”

“You’ve never heard of shoofly pie?”

“No.”

“Wait here.” Rising, Amber returned to the break room and pulled a small box from the bottom shelf. Returning to Phillip’s office, she set it in front of him with a pair of plastic forks.

He popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and cautiously raised the lid of the box. Swallowing, he said, “It looks like a wedge of coffee cake.”

“It’s similar. No dessert in the world says ‘Amish’ like shoofly pie. It’s made with molasses, which some people say gave it the name because they had to shoo the flies away from it. It’s a traditional Pennsylvania Dutch recipe but it’s served in many places across the South.”

“Interesting.”

“Try some.” She pushed it closer.

He shook his head.

“Are you a culinary chicken, Dr. Phillip?”

“It must be loaded with calories. I don’t indulge in risky behaviors.”

“That from a man who surfs the North Shore of Oahu?”

His eyes brightened. “You follow surfing?”

“A little.” And only since Harold told her it was his grandson’s favorite sport.

Phillip sat back and closed his eyes. “The North Shore is perfection. You should see the waves that come in there. Towering blue-green walls of water curling over and crashing with such a roar. The sandy shore is a pale strip between the blue sea and lush tropical palms. It’s like no place else on earth.”

“I’d like to see the ocean someday,” she said wistfully.

His eyes shot open in disbelief. “You’ve never been to the seashore?”

“I once saw Lake Erie.”

“Sorry, that doesn’t count. What makes you stick so close to these cornfields?” He picked up the fork and tried a sample of pie.

“I was born and raised in Ohio.”

“That’s no excuse.” He pointed to the box with his fork. “This is good stuff.”

“Told you. I was raised on a farm in an Amish community about fifty miles from here. My mother grew up Amish but didn’t join the church because she fell in love with my father, who wasn’t Amish. They owned a dairy farm. That means work three hundred sixty-five days a year. I don’t think I traveled more than thirty miles from our farm until I was in college.”

“What made you go into midwifery?”

“I always wanted to be a nurse. I liked the idea of helping sick people. Becoming a CNM wasn’t my first choice. I was led to become a nurse-midwife by my older sister, Esther. You would have liked her.”

Thoughts of Esther, always laughing, always smiling, brought a catch to Amber’s voice. He noticed.

“Did something happen to her?” he asked gently.

“Unlike mother, Esther longed to join the Amish church. She did when she was eighteen. After that, she married the farmer who lived across the road from us.”

“Sounds like you had a close-knit family.”

“Yes, we did. Esther had her first child at home with an Amish midwife. Everything was fine. Things went terribly wrong with her second baby. The midwife hesitated getting Esther to a hospital for fear of repercussions. By the time they did get help, it was too late. Esther and her baby died.”

“I don’t understand. How would that make you want to become a midwife?”

“Because a CNM has the skills, training and equipment to deal with emergencies. There are a lot of good lay midwives out there, but as a CNM I don’t have to be afraid to take a patient to the hospital for fear of being arrested for practicing medicine without a license. I can save the lives of women like my sister who want to give birth at home because they truly believe it is the way God intended.”

“Had your sister been in the hospital to start with, things might have turned out differently.”

He didn’t get it. She shouldn’t have expected him to. “Maybe, or maybe God allowed Esther to show me my true vocation among her people.”

Amber helped herself to the small bite of pie he’d left. “My turn to ask a question.”

“Why won’t I allow you to do home deliveries? I don’t believe it’s safe.”

She leaned forward earnestly. “But it is. Home births with a qualified attendant are safe for healthy, low-risk women. Countries where there are large numbers of home births have fewer complications and fewer deaths than here in the United States. How do you explain that if home births aren’t safe?”

“The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists do not support programs that advocate home birth. They don’t support individuals who provide home births.”

“Is that for safety reasons or financial ones? I’m taking money out of their pockets if my patients deliver at home.”

“You think the majority of doctors in the ACOG put money before the safety of patients? I doubt it. We could argue this point until we’re both blue in the face. I’m not changing my mind.”

Frustrated, Amber threw up her hands and shook her head. “This isn’t a whim or a craze. This has been their way of life for hundreds of years. At least listen to some of the Amish women who want home births. Hear their side of the story. This is important to them.”

All trace of humor vanished from his face. “What part of no don’t you understand, Miss Bradley?”

They glared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Suddenly, Amber heard the front door of the clinic open. A boy’s voice yelled, “Doktor, doktor, komm shnell!”

She leapt to her feet. “He says come quick.”




Chapter Five


Phillip jumped to his feet and followed Amber out to the office lobby. An Amish boy of about eight began talking rapidly. Phillip couldn’t understand a word. He looked at Amber. “What’s he saying?”

She shushed him with one hand until the boy was done. Then she said, “Their wagon tipped over in a ditch. His mother is trapped.”

“Did he call 9-1-1?”

She gave him a look of pure exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you? They don’t have phones.”

Running back to his office, Phillip grabbed his grandfather’s black bag from a shelf beside the door. Returning to the lobby, he saw Amber had a large canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

He said, “I’ll get the car. Try to find out from him how badly she’s hurt and where they’re located so we can get EMS on the way.”

Taking the boy by the hand, Amber followed Phillip out the door and climbed into his black SUV. She said, “It’s Martha Nissley, the woman we treated today. They overturned near their farm. It’s a quarter of a mile from the edge of town. Should I drive?”

“You navigate and try to keep the boy calm. Is he hurt?”

She spoke briefly to the boy in Pennsylvania Dutch. He shook his head. To Phillip, she said, “I don’t think so. He’s just out of breath from running and from fright. Turn left up ahead and then take the right fork in the road.”

Phillip did as instructed. He wanted to hurry but he knew he had to drive safely. He’d heard horror stories from his grandfather about buggy and automobile collisions on the narrow, hilly roads.

“There, that’s the lane.” Amber pointed it out to him as she was dialing 9-1-1 on her cell phone.

Topping a rise, Phillip saw a group of four men freeing the horses from the wagon. Both animals were limping badly. The wagon lay on its side in a shallow ditch. Phillip pulled to a stop a few yards away.

Turning to Amber, he said, “Make the boy understand he needs to stay in the car.”

“Of course.” After giving the child his instructions, Phillip and Amber got out.

Martha was lying facedown in the ditch, trapped beneath the wagon. A man knelt beside her. Phillip assumed he was her husband.

Only the broken spokes of the front wheel were keeping the wagon from crushing her completely. The rear wheel bowed out dangerously. If either wheel came off, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

He knelt beside her. “Martha, can you hear me?”

“Ja,” she answered through gritted teeth.

“Where are you hurt?”

“My back burns like fire. I can’t move my legs.”

His heart sank. “All right, lie still. We’ll get you out.”

“Where is my boy, Louis? Is he okay?”

“He’s sitting in my car. I told him to stay there.”

“Goot.” She began muttering what he thought was a prayer. Amber scrambled down in the ditch beside them. Quickly, she checked Martha’s vital signs. Then, to Phillip’s horror, she lay down and wiggled as far under the overturned wagon as she could.

After a minute, Amber worked herself backward and Phillip helped her gain her feet. He said, “Don’t do that again.”

“Martha’s bleeding profusely from a gash on her left thigh. I couldn’t reach it to put pressure on it, but it’s bad.”

He wanted to wait for the fire department and EMS. They’d likely have the Jaws of Life to lift the vehicle. But if she were hemorrhaging as badly as Amber thought, time was of the essence. “Okay, we’ll have to get the wagon off of her.”

Phillip turned to the men gathered around. The one kneeling beside Martha rose and joined them. “I’m David Nissley, Martha’s husband. We were afraid to move the wagon and do Martha more injury.”

“You were right. However, we need to move it now.”

Mr. Nissley pointed up the lane. “My boy, Noah, is coming with the draft team.”

What Phillip wouldn’t give for a forklift or at least a tractor…something he knew had enough power and wouldn’t bolt in fright and pull the heavy wagon on top of his patient. He considered trying to use his SUV but there was no room to maneuver on the narrow road.

He said, “We need some way to brace the wagon in case that wheel comes off.”

“We can use boards from there.” Amber pointed to the white painted fence running alongside the road. An instant later, Mr. Nissley and the men were dismantling the boards by using their heavy boots to kick them loose from the posts.

Phillip watched the activity impatiently. “Once we have it braced so it can’t fall back, we’ll try pulling it off her.”

A boy of about fifteen came racing down the road with a pair of enormous gray horses trotting at his heels. Sunlight gleamed off their shiny flanks as their powerful muscles rippled beneath their hides. They made a breathtaking sight.

The boy quickly backed them into position. They stood perfectly still as they waited for their harnesses to be hooked to the wagon. Feeling dwarfed by the massive animals, Phillip decided a tractor wouldn’t be necessary.

He turned back to Mrs. Nissley just as Amber was once again working herself under the broken vehicle, this time with her bag. He caught her foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Her voice was muffled. “Once the weight comes off her leg, someone has to put pressure on that gash. It’s oozing bright red blood.”

“You think it’s a severed artery?”

“I do.”

He didn’t like the danger she was putting herself in. He let go of her ankle because he knew she was right. The weight of the wagon on Martha might be stemming the flow of blood. Once it came off, she could bleed out rapidly.

Mr. Nissley alternated between speaking comforting words to his wife, directing the men making braces and instructing his son on the best way to attach the horses to the rig.

In less than five minutes, they were ready. Mr. Nissley spoke briefly to his wife, then took the reins from his son.

The boy said, “I can do it, Papa?”

“Nee, das ist für mich zu tun.”

Phillip looked at Mrs. Nissley for an explanation. “He said, ‘This is for me to do.’ If it falls back, he doesn’t want my son blaming himself.”

Another man called the boy over to help with the braces. Mr. Nissley coaxed the big horses forward. The wagon creaked ominously but lifted a few inches. The men standing by instantly moved in with the fence boards to prop it up. Squatting beside Amber’s feet, Phillip prepared to drag her out of harm’s way if need be.

The wagon inched upward with painful slowness, but finally Martha was free. Amber was already staunching the flow of blood with a heavy pad as the team dragged the broken wagon across the road. Phillip rushed to help secure the pad with a heavy elastic bandage. Amber was right. It was arterial blood. Martha would have bled to death if they’d delayed any longer.

The Amish woman was conscious but pale. Phillip said to Amber, “What supplies have you got in your bag?”

“IV supplies, pain medication, sterile drapes, suture, anything you’d need for a regular delivery. I’m going to start an eighteen gauge IV with Ringer’s Lactate.”

“Once that’s done give her a bolus of morphine if you’ve got it. Martha, are you allergic to any medications?” “Nee.”

All color was gone from her cheeks and her breathing was shallow. Phillip’s concern spiked. She was going into shock.

“Amber, hurry with that IV.”

“Should we try and turn her over?” Amber asked as she rapidly assembled her equipment, donned gloves and started prepping Martha’s arm for the needle.

“I’d rather wait for EMS and their backboard.” Phillip grabbed his stethoscope from his bag and listened to Martha’s lungs through her back. They were clear of fluid. One thing in her favor.

Amber slipped the IV line in and started the fluids. Gesturing to one of the men nearby, she gave him the bag to hold.

After handing over the reins of his horses to his son, Mr. Nissley returned to his wife’s side. Once there, he sat beside her and simply held her hand without saying a word.

Relief ripped through Phillip when he heard the sound of a siren in the distance.

Within minutes, the ambulance arrived on the scene, followed by a sheriff’s department cruiser. Standing beside Amber, Phillip felt her grasp his hand as they loaded Mrs. Nissley aboard.

Louis jumped out of Phillip’s SUV and raced to his mother’s side. She patted his head and told him not to worry. One of his sisters took his hand and coaxed him away. Mr. Nissley climbed in beside Martha. Soon they were on their way to the hospital in Millersburg, red lights flashing.

Together, Phillip and Amber watched the vehicle disappear in the distance. As the adrenaline drained away, Phillip grew shaky. Looking down, he noticed Amber still gripped his hand.



Following Phillip’s gaze, Amber realized her fingers were entwined with his. Suddenly, she became aware of the warmth traveling up her arm from where they touched. It spread through her body in waves and made her skin tingle like a charge of static electricity.

Their eyes met. An intense awareness rippled around them. Her breath froze in her chest. Her eyes roved over his face, soaking in every detail and committing it to memory.

Sweat trickled down his cheek. His hair was mussed, his clothes dirty. None of that diminished the attraction drawing her to him.

Behind her, someone spoke and a discussion about where to take the wagon broke out. She let go of Phillip’s hand and wrapped her arms across her chest. It had to be the adrenaline ebb. Holding his hand surely wasn’t making her weak in the knees, right?

He said, “I should follow them to the hospital. She’s my patient, after all.”

Amber struggled to get herself together. “We’ll need to make arrangements for the family to travel there, too.”

Phillip reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Who shall I call?”

“Samson Carter has a van service.” She gave him the number and after someone answered, he handed the phone to the oldest Nissley boy. When the boy was finished with the call, he handed the phone back and then gave instructions to his younger brothers and sisters. Already, the neighbors who had come to help were busy repairing the fence. The sheriff was interviewing them.

“Will these kids be all right?” Phillip asked quietly as they made their way toward his SUV.

Walking beside him, Amber nodded. “Yes. Word will spread quickly, and they will be smothered with help. Men will come to do the chores and women will come to take charge of the house. An Amish family never has to worry about what will happen to them in an emergency. It’s a given that everyone in the Church will rally around them.”

“That’s good to know. Martha shouldn’t have been driving that big wagon with her arm in a splint.”

“She wasn’t driving. Her son was.”

“That little one who ran to our clinic?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t his fault. Some teenage boys driving by in a pickup threw firecrackers under the wagon and spooked the horses.”

He stopped. “Does the officer know that?”

Amber glanced over her shoulder. “I doubt it. They won’t talk to the authorities about it. They will forgive whoever has done this. It is their way.”

“Someone should tell the officer. Can you get a description of the vehicle from them?”

“No. They won’t talk to me about it. I’m an outsider, like you.”

“But you’ve lived here for years.”

“That makes no difference. I’m not Amish.”

The sheriff came over to them. Tall and blond, with eyes only a shade lighter than Amber’s, he smiled at her fondly. “Hey, cuz. Can you give me any information about what happened here?”

“Hi, Nick. I can tell you what I overheard but not much else.” She relayed her story while he took notes.

After a few minutes, he put his notepad away. “Thanks. Not much chance of solving this but I’ll give it my best shot. How about you, Doc? Can you add anything?”

“Sorry, no.”

Amber said, “Dr. White, this is Nicolas Bradley, my cousin. Nick, this is Harold’s grandson. Phillip’s taking over the clinic until Harold gets back.”

The two men shook hands. Nick said, “Sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances. Ordinarily, this is a pretty quiet place. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work. Amber, see you later.”

As he went to finish interviewing the witnesses, Amber turned to Phillip. “We should get to the hospital.”

Reaching out, he gently brushed some dirt from her cheek. “I should get to the hospital. You should get home.”

Her heart turned over and melted into a foolish puddle.

Don’t do this. Don’t go falling for a man who’ll be gone in a few weeks.

It was good advice. Could she follow it?

Drawing a quick breath, she forced her practical nature to the forefront. This rush of emotion was nothing more than a reaction to their working together during a crisis. It would soon fade.

With a logical explanation for her irrational feelings, Amber was able to smile and say, “Dr. White, you can’t find your way to the grocery store. How are you going to find your way to Millersburg?”

He looked as if he wanted to argue. Instead, he nodded toward his car. “Get in.”




Chapter Six


Phillip tried to concentrate on the road ahead, but he couldn’t ignore the presence of the woman seated beside him. Her foolish bravery, her skill and quick thinking under pressure impressed him to no end. He saw now why his grandfather valued her so highly.

He said, “You did a good job back there.”

“Thanks. It’s not the first horse-drawn vehicle accident I’ve been to. Although there’s usually a car involved.”

“If they’re so unsafe, why do the Amish continue to use their buggies?”

“It’s part of being separate from the world. It’s who they are. Turn left at the next corner. You handled yourself well. Your grandfather would be proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

Phillip glanced at her. “Yes. More than you can know. How did you end up working for him?”

“Long story.”

“Longer than the drive to Millersburg?”

Her smile slipped out. “Probably not.”

“So tell me.”

“When I finished my nurse-midwife program, I started looking for a place to set up my practice. I knew I wanted to do home deliveries among the Amish. I know you don’t approve. Rest assured, you aren’t the only doctor who feels that way.”

“But my grandfather sees things differently.”

“Yes. I began talking to Amish families at local farmers’ markets and other gatherings. It was at the produce market in Millersburg that I heard about your grandfather. He’s held in very high regard in the Amish community.”

“He’s devoted more than thirty years to these people. They should think highly of him. I’m sorry. Go on.” He might not approve of their lifestyle, but he had to remember she did.

“I came to Hope Springs and explained to Harold how I wanted to practice. He was delighted. We both knew it wouldn’t be easy building a practice for me, so he hired me to work as his office nurse, too. Those first couple of years he mentored me every step of the way.”

“I envy you knowing him so well and working so closely with him.” Surprised that he’d admitted that out loud, he checked for her reaction.

“Your grandfather has taught me so much. The Amish say if you want good advice, seek an old man. It is true—but don’t tell Harold I called him old.”

Phillip laughed. “It will be our secret. I wish I could get him to act his age.”

“How is he supposed to act?”

“The man is seventy-five years old. He should be retired and enjoying his golden years.”

She waved a hand, dismissing his assumption. “If Harold is able, he’ll be back. We need him.”

Phillip needed him, too. He’d longed for a father figure all his life. His mother’s string of “Uncles” who lived with them over the years hadn’t filled that need. If anything, they made it worse. Meeting Harold in person had finally started to fill the hole in Phillip’s life.




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