The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,84

back into our regular routines. I did the prenatal appointments and Marta handled the scheduling and the books. During a break between clients, I headed into the cottage for my sweatshirt. The office was colder than usual, even though I’d turned on the heater. I was surprised to hear Marta, who sat at the dining room table talking on her cell phone, taking on a new client. When she was off the phone, I asked her if that was a good idea.

“Why?” She placed her hand over her cell.

“What if…you know, you’re…”

“Convicted?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I’ll figure out what to do if that time comes.”

In the early afternoon, I headed out on a home prenatal visit. I hadn’t seen the woman yet. Her name was Susan Eicher, and she was twenty-seven and six months pregnant with her fourth baby. It was her second prenatal appointment. I was learning that Amish women typically waited until they were several months pregnant before seeking medical attention.

I finally found the house above Paradise, one of many Amish villages around here that I’d noticed had a memorable name. I drove up a steep hill, through a wooded area, and then came to a modest dwelling. As I walked toward the front door, it was obvious that the place needed some upkeep. Paint was peeling on the siding, and the concrete of the walkway was cracked and crumbling here and there. The steps to the porch were nearly bare of paint, and they creaked as I climbed them. I knocked and then knocked again. Finally the door swung open and a little girl, five at the most, peeked up at me.

I told her who I was and that I’d come to see her mother. But then I realized she might not understand English and said, “Your mamm?”

She nodded and motioned to me with her index finger. I followed. Three baskets of laundry were on the worn hardwood floor in the living room. I was getting used to the simply furnished and decorated homes of the Plain people I served—no wall-to-wall carpeting, no portraits on the walls, no overstuffed chairs or couches, but this home was especially sparse, with just a couch in the living room and a table and four straight-back chairs in the adjoining dining room.

I could hear a child crying down the hall.

“Mueter!” the little girl called. I assumed she was saying “mother.”

“I’ll be right there,” the mother answered in English.

The little girl pointed to the couch and I sat. The crying continued, and when Susan appeared she carried a little boy, who appeared to be about a year and a half, clinging to her neck. A second boy, maybe a year older, had his arms wrapped around her leg, forcing her to walk with a jerk. Both of the children wore pajamas. The woman’s cap covered most of her light brown hair, and there were dark circles under her big blue eyes.

I stood and introduced myself. Susan sat down on the other end of the couch and pulled the second boy up onto her lap too, bumping him against her belly. The little girl scurried up beside him.

“The children have been sick.” Susan’s voice was soft, and I could barely hear her. “With the flu.”

The youngest boy pushed his brother, and Susan took his hand and pulled him to the other side of her, wedging him into the corner of the couch.

“Sorry about the mess.” She nodded at the baskets of laundry. They were mostly filled with sheets and towels. She looked me in the eye and then quickly averted her gaze.

“How long have they been ill?”

“All week.” She sighed. “First my daughter. She’s better now.” She patted the little girl’s head. “Now the boys.”

“What are their symptoms?”

“Vomiting. Diarrhea.” She smiled, just a little. “Crankiness and crying.”

As if on cue, the younger boy began to fuss again. I glanced into the kitchen. Dirty dishes filled the sink.

“What is your name?” I asked the little girl.

The mother spoke in what I thought was Pennsylvania Dutch, and then the girl looked at me and whispered, “Louise.”

A few minutes later, Louise and I tackled the dishes while Susan put the boys down for a nap. I washed and Louise dried and then pointed to where the dishes went that she couldn’t reach.

During the prenatal exam, Susan said that she and her family had recently moved to Lancaster County from Indiana. Her husband was working in his uncle’s buggy-making business. The uncle owned the house they were living in,