Nathan secretly hoped it was Patricia Daly. He regretted how he had treated her when she had only been doing her job. Her compliment about his care and diligence had been unjustified. What do I have to do with my son’s health and well-being? He’d told Iris about the social worker’s comment, and she had had little reaction.
And why did I bite Mrs. Daly’s head off for suggesting grief therapy sessions? Couldn’t I have just said, “No, that’s not for me”? Maybe he did need his head examined after all. He’d considered writing a letter of apology, but his penmanship and knowledge of English grammar left much to be desired.
Halfway down the walkway, he knew his apology to Mrs. Daly would have to wait for another day. A thin young man stretched his tall frame from the driver’s side.
“Mr. Fisher?” he asked. “Nathan Fisher?” The man approached the porch, glancing down at the gravel path with each step, as though unaccustomed to anything except concrete.
“I’m Nathan Fisher. What can I do for you?”
“I believe I can do something for you, sir.” He pulled a business card from his billfold and held it out. “My name is Jack Boudreau. I work for a law firm in Canton.”
Nathan glanced down at the card he’d accepted. It revealed nothing beyond what the man had already said.
“First of all, let me say our firm would like to express our deepest condolences. We understand you lost your wife in childbirth.” He paused a moment before continuing. “She was a very young woman, wasn’t she?”
“Jah, she was twenty-three.” Nathan shifted his hat back on his head and tucked his hands beneath his suspenders.
“Oh my. That is too young to die. We are so sorry for your loss.” He pulled on his necktie to loosen the knot.
Nathan wondered why the man talked in plural while he stood alone in the driveway. “Danki. God decides who to call home. He doesn’t ask anybody’s opinion beforehand.”
“That is what I was taught too. My mother is a Sunday school teacher and my wife helps out at VBS.”
Nathan arched an eyebrow.
“Vacation Bible School,” explained Mr. Boudreau. “So they would readily agree with you. But for myself, I think there are times when people should be held accountable for their actions. And this is a perfect example of one of those times.” He turned his focus skyward. “Would you mind if we talked in the shade or maybe inside the house? This sun is a scorcher today.”
“Sure, come up to the porch.” Nathan led the way, wondering why Englischers insisted on beating around the bush. They tried to use the maximum number of words to express whatever was on their chest. He waited while the lawyer sat down, pulled off his tie, and unbuttoned his top shirt button.
“That’s better,” said Mr. Boudreau with a grin.
“Suppose you tell me who this perfectly accountable person is.” Nathan lifted a boot heel to the bottom step.
“Mrs. Abigail Graber, of course. That woman doesn’t possess a license to midwife in the state of Ohio. She’s had only hands-on training and maybe a few classes beyond her eighth-grade education. She had no business coming into your home and attempting to medically administer to your wife.”
“I called and asked her to come.” Nathan stared in the man’s watery blue eyes.
“Notwithstanding, your request doesn’t mitigate her actions. She’s culpable, Mr. Fisher, and liable in this situation. She broke the law.” Boudreau imbued his final four words with special emphasis.
“What would you have me do?”
“My law firm and I feel you are entitled to damages from Mrs. Graber to compensate you and your son for the loss of companionship of a wife and mother. This sum of money can be used to pay funeral expenses, medical bills for the baby, and future long-term childcare. That little boy no longer has a mother, and that’s just not right.” Boudreau’s voice lifted with indignation.
Nathan pulled on his beard. “So you wish to sue…am I following you right?”
“That is correct, sir. That Graber woman doesn’t have liability insurance like she should have had—we’ve already checked. But she and her husband do own a two-hundred-fifty acre farm that’s worth quite a bit of money in this market.”
Nathan held up a calloused palm to stem the tide of words he’d rather not hear. “And this ‘we’ you keep talking about—this office full of other lawyers—what would they get out of this?”
“Our standard legal contingency fee is one-third of monies received. Which means if we don’t