The Amish Midwife's Courtship

Molly’s brow rose in agitation. Her mamm’s plain black shoes had left a trail of gooey brown mud across the recently mopped linoleum floor. Naturally her mother made no apologies for the added work.

Wiping her hands dry, Molly couldn’t help but smirk. The sudden morning shower had turned her mamm’s wooly gray hair into a wild riot of curls around her untidy, limp prayer kapp.

A natural trader, the older woman was blessed with the gift of bartering and had bragged at breakfast about the promise of ten pounds of freshly dug potatoes from old Chicken John, a local chicken farmer, for six jars of their newly canned peaches. Molly had a feeling the old farmer had more than peaches on his mind when it came to her mother. She’d noticed the way the widower looked at her, not that Ulla gave the man much encouragement. Her mamm seemed satisfied with being a widow with no man to tell her what to do.

Isaac Graber came back into the house moments after Ulla, the wind catching the door and slamming it again as he fell into the closest kitchen chair. The renter jerked a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped rain from his pale face.

Sniffing, Ulla took in a long, noisy breath and coughed on the kitchen’s putrid air. She dumped the potatoes into a wicker basket in the corner of the big kitchen and twirled.

“What’d you burn, dochder?” She jerked a dish towel off its peg and pressed it to her lips. Her watering blue-eyed gaze sliced from Molly, who stood transfixed in front of the cast iron sink, to the smoldering frying pan floating in a sea of sudsy dishwater.

Molly shrugged. She would not lie. She wanted to, but she’d never been good at weaving believable tales. Best to tell the truth. “The eggs got away from me.”

She waited for her mother’s reaction, her gaze slanting Isaac Graber’s way, daring him to deny the truth of her words. Had he had a chance to tell her mamm about what had happened this morning? She looked at the bump on his forehead and then glanced away. If her mamm made a fuss, she surely wouldn’t get to the singing practice on time.

Ulla looked in the kitchen trash and made a face, her full lips turned down at the corners. “You know it’s a sin to waste good food. That dog hanging around out back would have eaten those, burned or not.”

Ulla began to flap the dish towel around the room, propelling the smoke toward the slightly opened kitchen window.

“Molly didn’t forget the eggs, Mrs. Ziegler.” Isaac smiled and flashed his straight, white teeth. His green eyes sparkled with sincerity. “She helped me get off the floor when I tripped over my own big feet. The eggs paid the price for her efforts. Isn’t that right, Molly?”

Why was he taking up for her? She put her hands on her hips and looked him over. Pale and slender, he reclined in the old kitchen chair as calm as could be, his crutches leaning against the wall behind him. He smiled at her and her stomach flip-flopped. She went back to scrubbing the frying pan’s scorched bottom. Seconds later she glanced back up at him and caught him staring at her. What was he up to?

She’d expected him to be full of tales and gretzing to her mamm about this morning, and there he sat, being nice, even generous of heart. The man kept her off-kilter, and she wasn’t having any of it. “Ya, like he said, Mamm. He fell and I helped him up.”

One of Ulla’s gray brows spiked. She mumbled, “Ya, well. No matter. It’s gut you were here to help.”

Molly’s gaze drifted from her mamm’s suspicious expression back to Isaac’s calm grin. He had the nicest smile.

Ulla opened the cupboard door and asked, “You two want kaffi?”

“Ya.” Molly nodded and went back to scrubbing the pans.

Moments later mugs of steaming coffee and plates of buttered biscuits, with a dab of homemade raspberry jelly, appeared on the cluttered kitchen table. Molly sat next to her mother and looked at their new tenant. He gazed over his mug at her. A smile lit his face. She looked away, concentrating on spreading jam on her hot biscuit.

“Herr Graber tells me he bought the old bike shop yesterday and got it for a good price.” Ulla shoved half of her late-morning snack in her mouth and began to chew.

“Did he?” Molly blew on her hot coffee.

“Please call me Isaac.” He glanced at Molly, his green eyes bright.

Distracted by their shine, she took a gulp of coffee and burned her tongue, but would have died a million deaths before she let on. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had once again disturbed her.

“I thought since Herr Graber had some issues with his crutches this morning, it might be gut if you went with him when he takes a look at the shop.” Ulla drained the last of her coffee and placed the mug on the table.

“You bought the shop sight unseen?” Molly asked.

Isaac nodded. “I did.”

Foolish man. She turned to her mother and tried to keep the whine out of her voice. “I’d love to help Herr Graber, but singing practice is today. There’s a frolic in a few weeks. I promised I’d come this time.” Molly watched her mamm stuff the last crumbs of her biscuit in her mouth and sighed. She knew the mox nix expression her mamm wore. There’d be no singing practice for her today.

“I’m sure I can—” Isaac tried to interject.

Ulla rose from her chair. “It is settled. No more chatter from either of you.” She dusted crumbs off her generous bust and headed for the sink, not giving Molly or Isaac another glance as she continued talking. “You are a paying guest, Herr Graber, and an Amish man in good standing with the community. Molly will be glad to help you while you stay here. She has nothing better to do.”

Nothing better to do! Molly held her breath, praying she wouldn’t say the angry words begging to come out of her mouth. As long as she lived in her mamm’s haus, she’d never have a say in her own comings and goings.

Molly stole a look at the dark-haired tenant and was amazed to see a hangdog expression turning his bruised forehead into a deep furrow. Maybe he didn’t want her to go with him. She pulled at her prayer kapp, content in knowing the idea of her tagging along was an irritation to the infuriating man. Molly put on her sweetest smile and purred, “Ya, I’ll take him. I can always go to practice next week. We wouldn’t want Herr Graber to fall again.”

* * *

Isaac balanced himself on one crutch as he wedged himself between the peeling garage wall and the rusty old golf cart. He eyed the cart’s front tire and gave it a tap with the toe of his boot. “How old is this contraption anyway?” Not completely convinced the rusty bucket would move with both their weight on board, he tossed his crutches in the big metal basket behind the bench seat and struggled to climb in. One hip on the cart’s bench seat, he scooted over as far as he could, giving Molly plenty of room to drive.

Molly gathered up the folds of her skirt and climbed in on the driver’s side. She kept her eyes looking forward, ignoring his questions about the cart. She started the engine. The machine sputtered for a moment, but then took off down the pebbled driveway with a roar.

Wind blew off his black hat. It dropped into the basket at the back of the cart. He held on and sucked in his breath as she took a corner too fast. Her prayer kapp fluttered against her head. The sound of glass breaking invaded his thoughts, the flashback so real it could have been happening again.

His breath quickened.

His heart pounded.

He practiced the relaxation techniques he’d been taught in the hospital, pushing away the memories of his leg twisted unnaturally under him.

Breathe deep and hold.

Traffic slowed, and he loosened his grip on the seat. Why were there no seat belts on these contraptions?

They drove through the tiny town of Pinecraft. Bahia Vista Street came up within a matter of minutes. Isaac thanked Gott for their safe arrival as Molly pulled into the driveway of a small strip mall and parked around the back of the little bike shop squeezed in between a fancy pizzeria and a Laundromat desperately in need of some paint. Isaac got out on his good leg, grabbed for his crutches as he wobbled like a toddler, fighting for balance.

“Here. Let me help.” Molly shoved his left crutch farther under his arm, handed him his blown-off hat and walked across the minuscule patch of paved driveway toward the shop’s wooden back door.

Determined to be independent, Isaac took a step. Pain shot up his leg. He stifled a moan and kept putting one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily on his crutches for support. The doctors said the pain would soon go away. The broken leg held together with nuts and bolts would finish healing. But he would always have a limp.

A split second in time had taken Thomas’s life and turned the past two months into the most miserable period in his life. He’d expected more of himself, of the surgery that was supposed to put him back on his feet. He was lucky to be alive. Painful memories pushed their way in again. The sound of an ambulance screamed in his head. He pushed the sound away and took in a deep, shuttering breath.

“The door’s locked. Do you have the key?” Molly asked, rattling the handle. She glanced his way, but seemed to avoid looking directly at him.

Isaac nodded. “The Realtor said it should be under this.” He carefully shoved away a pail of murky motor oil with his good foot. He bent to grab the silvery key, swayed and then felt surprisingly strong arms go round his waist to steady him.

Molly stood against him, her breath tickling his ear for long seconds. She made sure he was stable and then gradually released his body. Without a word she stepped away, pulled back her skirt and grabbed for the key covered in muck.

“You do the honors. This is your new business.” Molly handed him the key and then gave him room to maneuver closer to the door.

This business purchase had been on impulse, something he probably should have thought more about. He normally would have, but he’d been desperate for a reason to get up every morning. A reason to keep living.

His hand shook as he pushed open the door. He felt around for a light switch, found it, then flicked it on. A bare bulb lit the dark, cavernous bike shop with harsh light. Broken and bent bike parts, torn golf-cart seats and rusting tools lay strewed across a filthy concrete floor. Total chaos. He faltered at the door. Another fine mess he’d got himself into.

“Was isht?” Molly glanced around him and then said, “Oh!”

“Ya, oh.” Isaac maneuvered around scattered bike wheels and seats, carefully picking his way through the rubble that was Pinecraft Bike Rental and Repair. “This is what I get for buying sight unseen. What a zot I am.”

Molly walked around him, surveying the clutter. She looked Isaac’s way, her expressive brown eyes wide open.

He knew pity when he saw it. His stomach lurched. He didn’t want or deserve her pity. He’d earned everything bad that happened to him. Let Gott’s retribution rain down on him.

“You’re not a fool, Isaac. We all act impulsively sometimes. We’ll get this place fixed up in no time. You’ll see.” She grinned, her face flushed pink.

“We?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to tease her, to take his mind off his misery.

Molly turned her back to him and moved away. “Ya, we. The church. Pinecraft. This community. We always pull together. You are part of us now. You’ll see. Gott expects us to help each other.” Molly went into the small office with a half wall that looked ready to fall with the least provocation.

He watched a blush creep down Molly’s neck. She was young and beautiful in her own quiet way, not that he let her good looks affect him. She had no business being nice to him. She didn’t know him, know who he was, what he’d done. She’d soon lose interest when she found out the truth about his past.

“I’m good with numbers,” she offered. “If you need help with the books...” She turned, a ledger in hand, her gaze steady. “I’m available.”

In the past Isaac would have grinned from ear to ear if a young woman had advised she was available, but he was hearing what he wanted to hear in her words. Not what she’d really meant. There was no way someone like Molly would show interest in a man like him. “Danke. Let’s see if I get this business going before we worry about receipts and ledgers.”

“I need to tell you something,” Molly murmured, seeking his gaze, her look sincere.

“Ya?”

“Danke for not telling my mamm about how you got the bump on your head.”

“Ya, well. I told her it happened when I fell.” He picked up a box of rubber bands and set them on a small desk in the corner of the dusty room. Brooding thoughts assailed him. He pulled off his hat and pushed the painful memories away.

“You shouldn’t have lied for me.” Her brow arched. “There was no need. Gott will be—”

“Disappointed in me?” he interrupted, finishing her sentence. “Too late, Molly. He’s already more disappointed than you can imagine.”

“We have only to ask and Gott will forgive us,” Molly said, holding his gaze.

He turned away, pretending to be busy with clearing the desk of trash. He wanted Gott’s forgiveness more than he wanted air to breathe, but did he have the right to expect forgiveness after what he’d done?

“Does it hurt?”

“What?” He turned back toward her.

“The bump.”

“Nee.” He flipped through a pile of papers on the desk, forcing his gaze down. The bump did hurt, but he wasn’t going to tell her. Some things were best left unsaid.

“The swelling is going down some.”

He grinned. “I had a good nurse.”

Molly laughed out loud, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I usually try to keep my tenants as healthy as I can.”

“You mean when you’re not smacking them with a broom handle.”

She was a tiny woman, not much taller than his little sister back in Missouri. He didn’t understand why he enjoyed watching Molly bristle so much, but the frown now puckering her forehead made him grin.

“Ya, well. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you, Isaac Graber,” she muttered, jerking on her kapp ribbons with an air of indignation and scooted out of the little office space. When he checked on her again, she was busy wiping down shelves and stacking old parts manuals the previous owner had left behind.

Isaac chastised himself as he flopped into the office chair, the pain in his leg telling him he’d have to slow down or regret it that night. “I’m sorry for teasing you, Molly. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. My leg hurts, and the pain makes me grumpy.”

She walked over to where he was sitting, a dust rag hanging from her fingertips, her brows arched. She looked at the knee he was rubbing. “How did you injure it?”

He had discussed the crash with his daed, bruder, the bishop and elders of the church, but he wasn’t about to tell Molly how someone had died because of his stupidity. He turned back to the desk, lifting a big sales journal out of the desk drawer. “There’s not much to tell. There was an accident. I got hurt, went to the hospital for a while and had two surgeries. The doctor said the pain will go away in time.”

He forced a grin as he placed the book on the desk and pushed it her way. “Look at this. Whoever owned this place cleared out in a hurry. Wonder what the rush was?”

“Leonard Lapp owned the shop for years. I heard he retired and moved back to Ohio. His son took over the business a couple of years ago. I never met him, but rumors spread like wildfire here in Pinecraft. Some said he married an Englischer and abandoned the church, his faith and his daed’s business, too.” Molly looked down at the book and then at Isaac, searching his face, her curiosity about him evident in her expression. She started to speak again, seemed to think better of it and turned away. She busied herself again. He couldn’t help but watch her movements. She had a way about her, something that drew him to her like a moth to a flame.

He’d have to stay away from Molly Ziegler.

Chapter Three

Wide awake at four o’clock in the morning, Molly heard the insistent ring of another late-night caller. She sat up in bed and stretched toward the tiny cell phone approved by her bishop for midwife work. Her fingers searched the bedside table, hurrying to stop the cell phone’s ring before it woke the whole house.

“Ya. This is Molly.” She pushed back her sheet, put her feet on the cool floor and rose. “Are you timing the contractions, Ralf?” She laughed, reaching for the dress she kept hanging for nights like this. “Ya, I guess you’re right. Six kids are plenty of practice. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

She slipped on her simple work dress and work apron, then slid the phone into her medical case. She brushed back her tangled hair with fast strokes and then pinned it up in a tight bun before adding her kapp.

There was reason to hurry. Bretta, her friend since school, gave birth faster each time she had another child, and this birth would make number seven. There was no time for much more than a quick brush of her teeth, and she’d better be out the door.

She scurried down the hall, past Isaac’s door. Did his bump still hurt. She had no cause for guilt, but she still felt at fault every time she looked at the goose egg on his forehead. Grabbing her medical bag, she pulled open the back door, ran to her cart and shoved in the key. In light drizzle she pumped the gas pedal. The golf-cart engine sputtered and coughed. Oh, no. Not now. She’d never make it in time if she had to run all the way to Bretta’s house.

Isaac repaired engines and fixed bikes, didn’t he? He would know what to do.

Molly raced through the clapboard house and down the narrow hall. She tapped lightly on Isaac’s door and then began to bang harder. Time passed. Time she didn’t have. “Isaac. Are you awake? Isaac?”

A sound of something falling came from the room.

“Is the house burning?” Isaac asked through the closed door.

Molly pressed her cheek to the cool wood. “No, of course it’s not.”

“Then go away.”

Persistence was called for. She banged again. “I need your help, Isaac. Please.”

The door cracked open an inch.

She couldn’t see much of his face, but she could hear his heavy breathing. Had he fallen again? “I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s an emergency. My cart won’t start.”

His door opened a bit more. She could barely make out his form in the dark hallway. “What kind of emergency? Is your mamm hurt?”

Molly groaned. “No. Not Mamm. It’s Bretta. She’s in labor.” She heard him yawn.

“Who’s Bretta?”

“There is no time for foolish chatter. I need you to help me get the cart started.”

“Outen the lights before you try to start the engine. Your battery is probably as old as the cart.”

“I tried that, Isaac. All I got was a sputter for my efforts.”

She could see him run his fingers through his hair in the gloom. “And tell me why you are going out in the dark, to this woman Bretta at this hour? Is she your sister?”

“Nee, not my sister. My patient.”

“I didn’t know you were a doctor.” He cleared his throat and coughed, his voice raspy.

“She’s in labor. I’m her midwife. Please, Isaac. I don’t have time for all these questions. I need your help now. If you’re not inclined to help, just tell me. I’ll call Mose.”

“This Mose? Is he someone you’re courting?”

Molly had no patience for all this nix nootzing. “Look. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to bed.” She rushed down the hall and back out the kitchen door. Where was a hero when a girl needed one? The term hero certainly didn’t apply to the impressive Herr Isaac Graber. All looks and no charm.

Flipping on the outside light, Molly rushed over to the cart, intending to give it one last chance before running the six long blocks to Bretta’s home.

She listened to the sluggish effort of the engine and groaned.

“Do you have gas in this lump of rust?” Isaac appeared out of the shadows and leaned on the cart, one crutch under his arm. He breathed hard and fast.

“Gas?” Had she remembered to fill the tank after their outing to the bike shop? Nee. She turned the key, looked at the tank’s gauge. Empty. What a bensel she was. No gas and a mamm-to-be waiting. Worse still, Isaac grinned like he knew what a bensel she was. “I forgot to fill the tank. What am I going to do? I have no choice but to run all the way, or disturb Mose.”

“Stop panicking and listen. Does your mamm keep gas around for the lawn mower?”

“I don’t know. Our neighbor, Herr Zucker, cuts the grass, but he does use our mower.” Molly headed for the shed just inside the fenced backyard. She pulled a long string on the wall. Light pooled a golden glow around her. She lifted a gas can off the metal shelf, shook it and then ran back to the cart.

Isaac stood barefoot next to the cart, his pajama bottoms soaking up the dampness from the grass underfoot. He had the cart’s gas cap in his hand.

She avoided looking directly at him and poured the gas in the cart’s tank. Isaac screwed on the cap and then surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look like any midwife I’ve ever seen.”

“And how many have you seen?” Molly asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He scratched his head and yawned wide. “Only you.”

She started the sluggish engine and began to slowly back up. “Thank you so much, Isaac.”

“I didn’t do anything. Just took off the gas cap and put it back on.” He started walking toward the back door, his one crutch taking all his weight.

“You saved the day and you know it,” she called over her shoulder and drove off into the night, her medical bag bouncing in the basket.

Glancing back, she watched the glow from the house light turn Isaac into a dark shadow as he slipped into the back door, his shoulders stooped. Why did the man have such a hard time accepting compliments? Didn’t he realize how important it was to have a midwife arrive before the baby? She smiled as she drove on into the darkness. Whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, he was her hero tonight, and she’d show him her appreciation somehow.

* * *

“Food’s up.”

Molly scrubbed the last of the dried egg yolk off the table and headed toward the kitchen’s service window. Each step was painful. The new shoes she’d bought on sale tested her patience. She couldn’t wait to get home, take them off and soak her feet in a hot tub of shiny, fragrant bubbles.

Willa Mae, the owner of the popular cafe since Hurricane Katrina had displaced her, stuck a sprig of parsley on the edge of the plate of steaming home fries and perfect over-easy eggs. She pushed it toward Molly. “Table six, and make it snappy. He seems in a hurry.”

Putting on her friendly waitress smile, Molly took the plate and hurried over to the lone man sitting in the front booth by the door. His back to her, she placed the large plate in front of the newspaper the dark-haired man was reading and cheerfully rattled off, “Here you go. Fries and eggs. Hope you enjoy them.”

“I would have enjoyed them more ten minutes ago.” The man’s hand rattled his empty coffee mug to express his neglect.

“I’m so sorry, sir. We’ve been a bit busy and I... Isaac? Was tut Sie Hier?”

Pulling his plate closer, he folded his newspaper and looked at Molly. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m hungry and want my second cup of coffee.”

She hadn’t seen Isaac since he’d repaired the cart for her the day before. “Why didn’t you eat at home? Mamm made pancakes with hot apple-butter early this morning.”

“I’m a solitary man. I like my own company,” he grumbled as he cut his eggs into perfect bite-sized squares. He leaned over the plate to get the full benefit of a fork full of eggs and home fries. “Now, can I have some coffee to wash down my breakfast?”

“Ya, of course. I’ll get you coffee right away.”

Taking a fresh carafe of coffee off the heater, Molly hurried back, reminding herself of the café’s customer service policy. The customer is always right. She’d agreed with the policy when she’d taken the job a year ago, but some days it took perseverance and a cool head to be friendly and courteous to certain patrons who passed through the café door.