Amish Country Box Set: Restless HeartsThe Doctor's BlessingCourting Ruth Read online

  “I’m sure there weren’t. From what I’ve seen of this practice, I can’t imagine how a seventy-five-year-old man could manage it by himself.”

  Rolling his eyes, he gave her a half smile. “This week being the exception, of course. Has Harold ever tried to get a partner?”

  “We had a young resident drop in last year and ask about joining us but Harold turned him down.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Shrugging, she said, “I assumed Harold didn’t think there was enough work for the both of them.”

  “That might be true now.”

  Amber gritted her teeth and decided it was best to get it out in the open. “When I said I had nothing to do with the meeting Monday, that may not have been the entire truth.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “I didn’t organize it, but I may know who did. I have a friend, an Amish woman whose baby I delivered a few months ago. She told me she thought she could help by bringing it to the attention of the Church elders.”

  “And you didn’t try to dissuade her?”

  “I don’t remember the exact conversation. I don’t believe I encouraged her. She may have seen it differently.”

  He waved aside her confession. “What’s done is done. My intention was to keep my grandfather’s practice going in the event that he could return.” He tapped the computer screen. “It looks like I may run it into the ground instead.”

  Leaning closer to see what he was pointing out, she asked, “What is that?”

  “Harold’s financial records.”

  “He did his financials on the computer? That’s surprising.”

  “Wilma does them for him. I nearly had to threaten her with bodily harm to get the password.”

  “I can imagine. Is it as bad as she says?”

  “It is. Harold has taken out a large bank loan using this place as collateral.”

  Amber was stunned. “Why?”

  “It appears he bought a fifty-one percent interest in the Wadler Inn.”

  “He owns part of the inn? He never mentioned that. I know he takes most of his meals at the café. He likes their cooking. When did he do this?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “Five years ago was when Mrs. Wadler’s husband died.”

  “Maybe he was trying to help out an old friend’s widow. Anyway, the loan payment is what’s hurting us the most.”

  Tapping the desk lightly with her journal, Amber gathered her courage and said, “I know this must sound like blackmail, but if you’d allow me to resume my deliveries it would solve a lot of problems.”

  He sent her a sidelong glance. “You’re right. It does sound like blackmail.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “You don’t know how important this is to them.”

  There had to be some way to make him understand.

  Chapter Eleven

  As Phillip stared at Amber, she suddenly jumped to her feet. “We need to take a trip.”

  “We do?” What was she up to now?

  “Yes, we do. You need to meet someone who can tell you what being Amish really means.” There was new excitement in her voice.

  “I think I already know,” he replied dryly.

  “No, you don’t. You’ve been on the outside looking in. We’re going to take a drive to an Amish farm about thirty-five miles from here.”

  “Won’t they shun me, too?”

  “They’re not from the same church district as the Amish in this area. When I explain why we’ve come, they’ll be happy to educate you.”

  “What if we get a patient in?”

  “Wilma can call us and we’ll be back in forty minutes or less.”

  This was a waste of time. “I don’t see what good it will do. I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Crossing her arms, she gave him a challenging stare. “Okay, then why not come with me? What have you got to lose? The Plain People mean a great deal to your grandfather. Why not learn why?”

  Phillip stared at her thoughtfully. What did his grandfather see in these people? Why had he chosen to remain here instead of living near Phillip and making up for thirty-four years of lost time with his only living relative?

  Maybe Amber was right. Maybe it would be worthwhile to understand them better.

  If his stepfather were here, Michael would be telling him to keep his heart open to God’s whispering. Perhaps this was one of those times.

  “Okay. I’m game,” he admitted slowly.

  Within ten minutes they were traveling northeast on a winding rural highway in Amber’s beat-up station wagon. As they left the town limits, they had to slow down for an open-topped buggy. The high-stepping horse pulling it looked like a thoroughbred trotter.

  When the opportunity arose, Amber pulled out and passed the buggy. Phillip said, “That animal looks more like a race-horse than a farm horse.”

  “He may have been on the track at one time. The Amish frequently buy trotters and pacers who can’t make the grade on the racetracks. They’ve already been trained to pull racing carts. It’s a short step to teaching them to pull the family buggy. The one we just passed most likely belongs to a young man of courting age. A high stepper and an open buggy are cool.”

  “The Amish version of a sports car?”

  “Sort of.” She smiled at him and he relaxed.

  Glancing covertly at Amber as she drove, Phillip realized their on-again, off-again battle was starting to take its toll on him. He was friendless in a strange land. Amber was the one person he’d met that he wanted to count as a friend—and perhaps even something more.

  They continued down the highway, slowing occasionally to follow behind a buggy or horse-drawn cart until it was safe to pass. Outside his window he saw farm after farm dotting the rolling landscape of fields and pastures. For the most part, the houses were white and the barns were red. It was easy to tell which farms belonged to the Amish. The lack of power and phone lines was a dead giveaway.

  After traveling in silence for a quarter of an hour, he turned in the seat to face her. “What should I know about the Amish?”

  “Wow, there is so much it’s hard to know where to begin. They immigrated to this country, mostly from Germany and Switzerland in the seventeen hundreds to avoid religious persecution.”

  “I thought they were Dutch.”

  “Because their language is called Pennsylvania Dutch?”

  “That might lead a person to believe they came from Holland.”

  “The common explanation was that they were known as the Pennsylvania Deutsch, or ‘German,’ and that the word Deutsch morphed into Dutch over time. What they speak is a form of German.”

  “You speak it, too.”

  “It was spoken in my home when I was growing up.”

  “Was it hard growing up in an Amish community not being Amish?”

  “Not really. Like most kids I accepted my home life as normal. I knew I dressed differently than my cousins and that I went to a different school. That didn’t matter when we were playing together.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Back to your history lesson. In nineteen hundred there were about five thousand Amish in America and Canada. Currently, there are over two hundred thousand. Ohio and Pennsylvania have the largest settlements. We have about three hundred seventy-five church districts among the dozen or so different types of Amish.”

  Intrigued in spite of himself, Phillip asked, “What do you mean different types? Aren’t they all one religion?”

  “Yes and no. They range from ultraconservative like the Swartzentrubers who live without gas, electricity or indoor plumbing and don’t even allow cushioned chairs in their homes, to the Beachy Amish. They use electricity and drive cars. However, the cars must be black. They paint the chrome bumpers black so they don’t appear ‘fancy’ or worldly.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. If you’re Amish and you must use a computer for your business and your church group doesn’t allow it, yo
u can join a more progressive group.”

  “Do they switch?”

  “Not very often. Okay, here we are.” She slowed the car, turned onto a gravel lane and drove up to a large, rambling white farmhouse.

  An elderly Amish woman sat on a rocker on the front porch surrounded by three young girls of varying ages. They all had large pans in their laps.

  The woman’s face brightened into a big smile when Amber got out of the car. Putting her pan aside, she held out her hands. Amber raced up the steps and sank to her knees beside the woman. “Hello, Mammi.”

  “My English granddaughter finds time to visit me at last. I thought I was going to have to get a driver to take me into Hope Springs to look for you.”

  Phillip walked around the hood of Amber’s car and stood beside the steps.

  Amber laid her hand on her grandmother’s arm. “I’m sorry. I will come more often, I promise.”

  “You must not forget us while you are out in the English world. Who have you brought with you? Your young man perhaps?” She eyed Phillip hopefully. He knew his face had to be turning red.

  Amber giggled like a schoolgirl. The sound was adorable. “No, Mammi, don’t go planting extra celery for me. This is Dr. Phillip White. We work together. Phillip, this is my grandmother, Betsy Fisher.”

  Betsy studied him with interest. “I thought your doctor was old, like me.”

  “This is his grandson.”

  Phillip stepped forward. “How do you do, madam? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You will stay to supper, ja?”

  “Unless we get called back for an emergency, I’d love to. I’m finding Amish cooking is full of hidden delights.”

  “Gut! Amber, your Tante and Onkel should be home soon. They’ve gone to market.”

  Amber glanced from Phillip to her grandmother. “I’ve brought Phillip here today so you can talk to him about Amish ways.”

  Betsy’s eyes brightened. “What is it about our ways that you would like to know?”

  “Many things.”

  She spoke in German to the young girls who were watching the adults intently. The girls set their pans on the floor and went into the house.

  Betsy looked at Amber for a few seconds, then said, “Go and help your nieces prepare supper, Amber. They have many questions for you about living in the English world.”

  “Yes, Mammi.” Rising, Amber kissed her grandmother’s cheek, then followed the younger girls into the house.

  Turning her sharp gaze back to Phillip, Betsy scrutinized him long enough to make him squirm. Finally, she patted the chair beside her. When he sat down, she handed him a pan. “Have you snapped beans before?”

  “No, but I’m a fast learner.”

  She chuckled warmly. “A man willing to learn a woman’s task is a man I like. Ask your questions, Phillip.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Amber visited with her young cousins in the spacious kitchen but kept an eye on Phillip and her grandmother through the big window overlooking the porch. Could her grandmother make him understand that the Amish weren’t some strange cult but simply Christians that didn’t separate their everyday lives from their faith?

  She glanced at her watch. They had been out there for almost thirty minutes.

  Taking a sip of tea that had been made for her, Amber blew out a long breath. If her grandmother couldn’t make Phillip see how important having a home birth was for an Amish woman, Amber didn’t know who could. She glanced out the window again and saw the rocker was empty. Her grandmother and Phillip were nowhere in sight.

  “Is he your boo-friend?” Lilly, the youngest cousin asked.

  Turning her attention back to the three girls ranging in age from seven to twelve who were seated around the table with her, Amber shook her head. “No. He is most definitely not my boyfriend.”

  The girls were like stair-step carbon copies of each other with blond hair, inquisitive blue eyes and ready smiles for the English cousin they rarely saw.

  “Mammi Fisher fears you will become en alt maedel. Will you?” Ruth, at twelve, was in charge of her younger sisters while their parents and brothers were gone.

  Amber summoned a smile. Trust kids to ask the most embarrassing questions. “If I find the right man, I’ll get married someday.”

  “Are there no good English men? My friend Kara’s dat needs a new wife. Kara’s mamm died last year. Kara has only four brothers and sisters.” Ruth looked hopeful.

  “Please tell Kara I’m sorry for her loss but I’m not interested in getting married right now. Besides, I’m not Amish. Kara’s dat would not marry me.”

  “Mammi says you could be Amish if Gott wished it.” Rhoda, the nine-year-old, left the table to check on the roast simmering in the oven. The mouthwatering smells of perfectly seasoned beef with roasting carrots and onions filled the kitchen and set Amber’s stomach rumbling.

  She said, “I believe I’m following the path He has chosen for me.”

  The door opened and Betsy came in, followed by Phillip. He had three large pans full of snapped beans stacked in his arms. Amber jumped up to help him by taking one. “This is the trouble with visiting my family. They find work for everyone.”

  “I don’t mind. I can add bean snapper to my résumé now.” He was smiling and seemed less tense than he’d been at the start of this journey.

  After helping him set his burdens on the counter, Amber showed him where to wash up, then waited for him in the living room.

  When he returned, she gestured to an empty chair. “Was my grandmother able to answer your questions?”

  “She’s a very wise woman. Do you know she is worried about you? She wishes you lived closer to home so she could see you more often.” There was a touch of longing in his voice that Amber didn’t understand.

  “I know she worries about me. She doesn’t understand I have my work and I love what I do. The Amish view being a wife, a mother and a helpmate to her husband as the only roles for women. Has she helped you see how important my work is?”

  “She gave me a lot to think about.”

  The sound of a buggy coming into the yard sent the girls scurrying outside to help. Amber and Phillip were soon engulfed in introductions as she presented her mother’s youngest sister, Maryanne, and her stoic husband, Tobias. While he and his two teenage boys stayed to visit with Phillip, it was easy to see they weren’t entirely comfortable with an outsider in their home. When the conversation lagged, Amber leaned over and whispered to Phillip, “Do you like baseball?”

  He gave a slight nod.

  “So does Tobias,” she said with a nod in his direction.

  Giving her a thankful wink, Phillip straightened on the sofa and asked, “How do you think the Cleveland Indians will do this year?”

  Tobias’s face turned bright red. His oldest son sat forward in his chair. “Their pitching staff is deep and they can field a ball. I think they’ll do well this year.”

  “Nee.” Tobias shook his head. “They’ve got good hitters but no consistency.”

  The conversation quickly turned to local Amish teams and then to the sport Phillip enjoyed. He tried to explain surfing, but it was clear the idea of zipping along in front of a wave on a long board seemed silly to these stoic men. Fortunately, Maryanne came in to announce that supper was ready.

  When everyone was seated in the kitchen, Tobias clasped his hands together at the head of the table. The entire family did the same and closed their eyes for his silent blessing over the meal.

  He cleared his throat when he was finished. It signaled everyone to begin serving themselves and passing the food to their guests.

  For Amber, watching Phillip enjoy her family’s home cooking made the trip worthwhile. The roast, fork-tender, was done to perfection, as were the warm dinner rolls served with homemade strawberry jam and fresh butter.

  Phillip sat beside Lilly. She watched his every move with wide eyes, especially when he began laying a few of his string beans aside at the ed
ge of his plate. After careful examination of each bean, he chose to eat some and save some. Finally, it was too much for her.

  “What are you doing? Are de beans faul?” Lilly eyed her own critically.

  “Bad,” Amber translated.

  Pointing to his stack with his fork, Phillip said, “These are my friends. I met them today when I was snapping with your grandmother.”

  A few chuckles came from the adults at the table, including Amber.

  Lilly looked at him in disbelief. “You can’t be friends with a bean.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Nee, and you can’t tell ’em apart, neither.”

  “Are you sure?” He picked up one. “This looks an awful lot like one I snapped today.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Phillip tossed the bean in his mouth. “Well, he tastes good, even if he was my buddy.”

  Lilly put her hands on her hips. “Are you funning me?”

  Smiling, he nodded. “Ja, just a little.”

  Lilly looked at her papa. “Der Englischer ist ab im kopf.”

  That made everyone laugh. Amber, seated across from Phillip, explained. “She said you are off in the head. Crazy.”

  Phillip laughed, too.

  When the meal was nearing its end, Betsy brought an apple-sauce cake to the table. Phillip held up his hand. “It smells wonderful, but I’m too full. Thank you, no.”

  Cutting a slice, she placed it on his plate. “You must try this. It is my special recipe.”

  Sighing, he lifted his fork and took one small bite. His eyes grew as round as silver dollars. Swallowing, he said, “This is the best stuff I’ve ever had.”

  Seeing her grandmother’s delight, Amber was glad she had talked Phillip into coming here.

  Later on the way back to Hope Springs, they traveled in companionable silence, both too stuffed to need conversation. The setting sun painted the sky with bands of gold and turned the bottom of the clouds a beautiful pink. When they passed a small cornfield, a flock of black birds rose in unison and wheeled across the sky, circling back and coming to rest again in the place they’d left.

  Amber watched them settle in her rearview mirror and knew she was like those birds. No matter where she traveled in life, she would always come back to this place. It saddened her to think that Phillip would be flying away and might never return.