his shoulder. “But that’s enough for today,” he said. “Time to get them home and start dinner.” Daniel headed in the direction of his house.
Catherine hadn’t noticed how low the sun had fallen in the western sky. “Laura, come out of the water. We must go.” Once the girl acknowledged with a wave, Catherine bent to repack the hamper and fold up the quilt. When she stood up, Isaiah, dripping wet, was standing behind her. He was close enough for her to see reflected sunlight dancing in his eyes.
“Danki,” he said, one word of Deutsch he knew well. “Danki,” he repeated. Then he strode to his horse, who had been munching on tall weeds, shimmied onto her back, and rode off in the direction Daniel had gone.
Catherine and Laura stood staring for several seconds after he disappeared over the hill. “Is he good at everything he does, except talking?” asked Laura.
“Apparently so, dear girl.” And it took great effort for Catherine not to grin all the way home.
Ten
Abby tossed and turned that night, as she had every night since her attorney’s visit. She knew what he’d meant by “make sure you tell the whole truth when you’re asked a question in court.” Mr. Blake wanted her to reveal where she had obtained the anti-hemorrhage drug she gave Mrs. Fisher. But how could she possibly do that? The licensed midwife who had entrusted her with the syringe made it clear she was breaking every rule in doing so. She had emphasized that the injection was to be used only in an emergency—a case of life or death. That night, Mrs. Fisher’s situation had certainly qualified.
The retiring midwife had been awarded the distinction of Midwife of the Year many times. She’d enjoyed a long, successful career, bringing thousands of babies into the world. What was the point in ruining the woman’s reputation, stripping her of her nurse’s license, and maybe landing her in jail too? Nothing would bring back Ruth Fisher. One life destroyed should be enough. Two and a half years in jail. How could she withstand separation from her family that long? Yet she remembered her last conversation with the retiring nurse as though it had been yesterday:
Please, Margaret. Let me keep a syringe or two of Pitocin. Nothing works as well when a woman is bleeding too much. It can buy enough time to get the patient to the hospital.
Margaret had frowned, her lips pursing with unease. You know I can’t do that, Abby. It isn’t an over-the-counter drug. I have to account for the doses in my possession. Anyway, you’ll always be assisting Dr. Weller or another registered nurse, so you won’t need your own supply.
Doctors usually arrive well after us and might come too late. And which nurse are you talking about? The job opening for your replacement has been posted for months and still no takers. No one is eager to live in a rural community, apart from the conveniences Englischers hold dear, not to mention miles from the nearest large hospital.
Margaret had closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with the beginnings of one of her commonplace headaches, while Abby held her breath.
Please, I’m pleading with you. Having that drug could save someone’s life.
Margaret had remained silent for what seemed like a long time. When she finally spoke, the toll of working long hours along with the chronic pain of arthritis were evident in her face. All right, one dose of Pitocin—to be used only in an emergency, and only if you’re certain medical personnel can’t arrive in time. She had wrapped the single syringe in sterile gauze, placed it in a bag and handed it to Abby with near reverence. That had been almost three years ago. Margaret hadn’t requested protection from possible repercussions. She hadn’t demanded Abby’s future silence. But the look in her eyes had said it all: She hadn’t wanted to share the medication.
Now, as Abby lay awake, listening to the resonant snores of her roommate ring in her ears, she knew she couldn’t divulge the truth. She would pay the price for this and other mistakes she made in life, but extending the misery to an unwilling participant wouldn’t solve anything. Unable to sleep, she prayed for guidance, turned on the small light above her head, and opened her Bible.
Lately, she’d been reading the book of Judges. Although she enjoyed the story of Samson and Delilah, she couldn’t understand why the Israelites continued to sin and disobey God despite all