medical personnel in the surrounding area to treat possible respiratory distress from toxic exposure. He will be tied up in that mess at the emergency room all night. You’ll have to call the paramedics for Mrs. Fisher.”
“That’s what I plan to do.” Despite the cool evening breeze, Abby’s back began to perspire. “Their farm is in sight. Let me give you the address and directions of where I’ll be in case something changes with Dr. Weller.” She recited the exact description Nathan had provided as her mare trotted up the loose-stoned driveway.
The Levi Yoder farmstead was one of the few that didn’t conform to the usual standard of Amish orderliness, but probably not from lack of trying on the part of the young couple. After a certain number of years, paint and caulk cannot repair old, dry-rotted wood or crumbling foundations. However, she wasn’t here to take photographs for Country Living magazine. She had a job to do.
As the buggy rolled to a stop and she set the brake, Nathan Fisher came running from the house. He bounded down the sagging steps and grabbed her horse’s bridle. “Please go on inside. I’ll tend to your horse. My wife’s hurting real bad.”
Even before she heard the ominous words his blanched complexion terrified Abby. “Just turn my mare out into your paddock and don’t fuss with her because I might need you. And bring in the case of bottled water when you come.” She hefted her bag of supplies out of the buggy and ran to the house.
Abby set the bag on the table and punched 9-1-1 into her cell phone. When the dispatcher came on the line, she identified herself, gave the address and explicit directions, and stated that a woman in labor needed an ambulance. Her hands shook as she held the phone next to her ear. If the situation beyond the closed door turned out to be anything less than an emergency, she would take the blame for the call. The dispatcher repeated the information, stated that an ambulance was on the way, and, blessedly, allowed her to hang up instead of keeping her tied up with unnecessary details. The dispatcher offered no approximation of the estimated time of arrival. Next, Abby scrubbed her hands and arms at the sink as quickly and thoroughly as possible.
Drying her hands on a paper towel, she glanced around the Fisher kitchen. Vandals wreaking mischief or a storybook cyclone usually caused such havoc. Cupboards stood open, water had been spilled between the sink and the stove, soiled linens lay in a heap near the steps to the cellar, and someone had knocked over a box of Cheerios across the counter. Never had she seen spilled food in an Amish home that hadn’t immediately been cleaned up.
For a moment her eyes locked on the cereal with bizarre fascination. Then the piercing wail of a woman broke her paralysis, and she grabbed her bag and ran in the direction of the sobs. Inside the bedroom she found a woman in advanced stages of labor. Sweat ran down the woman’s nose and cheeks like spring rain. The room, hot and airless, held the coppery sweet scent of blood.
“I’m the midwife, Abigail Graber. What’s your given name, Mrs. Fisher?” she asked, trying to engage the woman in conversation.
The woman’s complexion was the color of skim milk, her kapp was on the floor, and her damp hair clung to her scalp like a helmet. “Ruth,” she managed to say between clenched teeth.
“I called the doctor, but he’s at an emergency in Ashland, so then I called the paramedics—no arguments. I’m not licensed to deliver babies by my lonesome.” While Abby rattled on, she pulled off the quilts and sheets that were covering Mrs. Fisher, as though keeping her warm was of chief importance. Once Abby had stripped off the layers down to the woman’s nightgown, her words and breath froze in her throat.
There was a lot of blood—too much. It pooled on the sodden sheet, trapped by the protective plastic sheeting Ruth probably placed atop the mattress cover when her labor first began.
Ruth dug her fingernails into the bed with the next contraction, while Abby sped back to the kitchen, pressing the redial button on her cell phone.
Nathan Fisher was just walking into the kitchen carrying the bottled water. She thrust the phone toward him. “When they answer, tell them we need that ambulance right now. Give them the address again and tell them that your wife is