Love Rekindled Read online

  Chapter 3

  She had never had to use her firehouse CPR training before, and had hoped she would never need it, but Keturah was grateful for it now as she placed the palms of her cold hands on the girl’s sternum and began to push rhythmically as the rain soaked the girl’s pink t-shirt.

  Two minutes later, she still could not find a pulse. A surge of panic hit. In all her reading about childbirth, she knew that a fetus could only survive for about seven minutes in a dead mother’s womb without brain damage or death.

  “Come on, come on.” Keturah said, as she resumed chest compressions. “Please breathe.”

  If nothing else, she knew she was forcing the mother’s blood to carry the residual oxygen that was still in her lungs to help the baby. There was a chance that the small amount of oxygen might keep it alive a little longer.

  The cold drizzle that had accompanied her here began to turn nastier. A wind blew up, showering her and the girl with wet, dead leaves. She prayed for strength and endurance in her fight to keep the mother and baby alive. Her coat and clothing became soaked with rain. The car horn blared on and on. It was nerve wracking, but she was grateful. It might be her only hope of help. She prayed that the sound might cause a neighbor to investigate.

  There was a strong smell that clung to the girl’s clothes—a food smell. It reminded her of a niece who had once been employed frying doughnuts at a bakery. The smell had been so strong, the family complained.

  The rain had washed much of the blood away from the girl’s face and hair, making it possible for Keturah to see the wound clearer. She nearly recoiled from the severity of it. Unless God sent a miracle, this girl was never going to breathe on her own again.

  Now the burning question remained—what about the baby? The precious seven minutes were quickly running out.

  Although she possessed much knowledge about the herbs and tinctures that midwives had passed down over the centuries, it did not prevent her from embracing newer technologies. A small Doppler fetal monitoring device was back in her birthing bag in the buggy. It would make it possible for her to check and see if the baby still lived.

  She had fervently prayed for God to send help but, as each second ticked away, it had become apparent that the only help He had seen fit to send to this pregnant girl and her child was herself, a tired Amish midwife. Her aging knees cried out in pain as she rose and ran to the buggy where she kept her bag filled with supplies.

  The rain increased as she slipped on the wet leaves and fell in her hurry to get the birthing bag. As her left knee hit the ground, she cried out from the sharp pain, but immediately scrambled back up and limped to the buggy where she unhooked the battery-operated lantern hanging on the back. It would give her better light than the small flashlight she carried. Then she grabbed her birthing bag and rushed back to the mother.

  Squatting, she sat the lantern down near the girl. Then she reached into her bag for the tube of ultrasound gel, shoved the denim jacket aside, pushed the girl’s pink t-shirt up and smeared some gel on her belly. Then she fumbled for her Doppler monitor and searched for the baby’s heartbeat.

  There. Right there. She could hear it. The baby lived, and the heart was relatively strong. The irony was not lost on her that she was allowed to own such a technically advanced instrument, but did not have permission to carry a cell phone.

  If there was one thing the Amish leadership took seriously—and they took many things seriously—it was trying to be a good example for the young. She understood their church leaders’ fear that owning cell phones would be too much of a temptation to their young people. She had heard that many evil things could be accessed on those picture phones, unspeakable things. But oh, what she wouldn’t give for a way to call 911 right now.

  The thought struck that perhaps this Englisch girl might have a phone. Practically all the young ones she had seen walking down the streets of Sugarcreek had such devices in their hand. Quickly, she searched the girl’s pockets. Nothing there. She glanced inside the car. There was nothing there either that she could see, not even a purse.

  It was half past two in the morning and Ivan could not sleep. He paced the floor of the kitchen, poked at the fire, made himself a cup of tea from the water Noah had put on to boil, then he neglected to drink it. Something did not feel right. He was getting more nervous and upset by the minute. He glanced out the window a dozen times but there was nothing to see.

  As the husband of a midwife, he was used to Keturah keeping odd hours. It was part of the sacrifice of being a midwife’s family. After tending a difficult birth, she sometimes slept during the day when other wives would be up doing chores. She often came home in the middle of the night or at dawn. The inconveniences were worth it to him because he believed in the importance of his wife’s work.

  He went out the backdoor to the woodshed and brought in a large armload for the wood box behind the stove, all the time chastising himself for being concerned, but he couldn’t help it. He could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. To make matters worse, the wind had kicked up and the rain was intensifying. Ivan knew he should have more faith, but the bad feeling would not go away.

  If Keturah were here, she would probably tell him that his problem tonight was reading too many Zane Grey novels. The thought made him smile, but it did not ease his worry.

  Noah had gone back to bed, but once again Ivan heard his youngest son stirring upstairs, and then heard his footsteps coming down again. This time Noah was wearing his work shoes.

  “I’m not going to be able to sleep until I know Maam is okay,” the young man said. “Do you mind if I call the Yoders and check on her?”

  “They probably won’t even hear the telephone in this kind of weather. It is a long way down their lane to their phone shanty.”

  “That is true, but I have knowledge that the youngest Yoder sister has a cell phone in her possession.”

  “In spite of the bishop’s ban against it?”

  “Beth has not yet made her confession, Daett,” Noah reminded him. “She also owns a car.”

  Ivan’s eyebrows shot up over that revelation. He had always thought the youngest Yoder girl a model of modest Amish womanhood. He hoped she wasn’t enjoying her ‘running around’ time too much. On the other hand, sometimes the wildest Amish teens became the most sober members of their church. Not always, of course, but Ivan had learned not to judge the youngies too harshly.

  “I have not seen an automobile parked at the Yoder’s farm.”

  “Her father does not approve and does not want our people seeing it parked in their yard. She pays to keep it in an Englisch neighbor’s barn.”

  “Ach. Her poor father! He must be very worried about her. I am grateful to have only had boys to raise. You have her telephone number?”

  “She gave it to me recently.” Noah’s normally ruddy complexion grew slightly deeper. “I will call her right now if you want me to.”

  “Please. It would be good to get some sleep tonight,” Ivan said. “The family will be here for Christmas in a few hours.”

  Noah threw on his heavy barn coat, grabbed a flashlight, and walked out to the phone shanty while Ivan watched through the window. The boy had a good heart and had been baptized into the Amish church when he was barely eighteen. Now, he was twenty-six, handsome and strong and, as of yet, none of the young women in the nearby Amish settlements had caught his eye. Now he was interested in a girl who was apparently going through a rebellious stage. A car and a cell phone! She probably owned a radio as well and listened to modern music. A dangerous thing.

  This was most definitely something to pray about. If she chose not to put away her worldly desires and join the church, things could get bad. If Noah chose to marry her even though he had already joined the church, their people would expect Ivan and Keturah as well as the entire Yoder family to shun the young couple. He could not imagine shunning his youngest son. This could become quite a mess.

  Thinking about such a future caused
the joy he had felt earlier to evaporate as he watched the wind strip the final leaves from the trees in front of their house. In a few moments, he saw Noah leave their phone shanty and come running toward the house.

  “Beth says that Maam left over an hour ago!” Noah shouted as he plunged into the kitchen.

  It was less than a half-hour buggy ride to their house from the Yoder’s.

  The two men stared at each other. No words were necessary. Ivan grabbed his coat and both rushed out the door.

  Chapter 4

  Dr. Michael Reynolds stared at a document lying on his kitchen table. It had never occurred to him that a mere piece of paper could make his stomach cramp, but this one did.

  Doc Mike, as the people from Holmes County were beginning to call him, was fit, strong, barely thirty, and could eat cold pizza at midnight and still sleep like a baby. But looking at this document made his stomach churn so badly it was all he could do not to throw up.

  It was from Cassie, his wife, who apparently had decided that she would not be moving here to be with him—even though he’d just landed a job he’d dreamed of most of his life, getting to care for farm animals and people’s pets in his beloved hometown of Sugarcreek, Ohio.

  “I am a corporate lawyer,” she reminded him as he packed his bags. “Unless you haven’t noticed, Sugarcreek isn’t exactly overrun with corporations. Seriously, Michael, you know how hard I’ve worked to achieve my position at Blackwell, Hart & Cooper. How can you expect me to move to an area where a large percentage of the population thinks it’s a sin to litigate?”

  “How can you expect me to give up a chance of a lifetime?” he said. “I’ve admired Doc Taylor my whole life. He’s the reason I chose to become a veterinarian in the first place. I will not turn down his wife’s offer to take over his practice now that he’s gone. The farmers relied on him, and now they need me.”

  Cassie was curled up on their cream-colored living-room couch with legal papers strewn all about her. Her long, auburn hair was piled on top of her head with a clasp. She was wearing her midnight-blue gown that had probably cost more than one of his Amish friends’ prize steers. She was a head-turner in every way, whether dressed for court or padding around the apartment barefoot in her silk nightgown.

  Her beauty had made him do a double-take the first time he saw her when they were in college, but her beauty was only part of the reason he had worked so hard to convince her to marry him. She was also the smartest woman he had ever met, and the most disciplined. He had done a competent job working at a local suburban animal clinic, but her rise in the corporate world had been breathtaking.

  “There are other vets in the world,” Cassie had said. “I’m sure there are tons who would jump at the chance to take over for Dr. Taylor.”

  “Of course there are.” He could still feel the anger that had risen inside him at the mere thought of anyone else taking over old Doc’s practice. “But how many vets are fluent in Pennsylvania Deutsch? The fact that I can communicate in their mother tongue will make a huge difference in dealing with the Amish farmers.”

  “They also speak English,” Cassie said. “The fact that you know their other language is no reason for me to give up everything I’ve fought for. You know how hard I’ve worked. Other lawyers would kill to be in my position.”

  He had finished packing, gave her a peck on the cheek, and walked out the door without another word.

  It was a gamble for him to take on Dr. Taylor’s veterinary practice against her wishes, but he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Not if he was going to be true to himself. This was the life he wanted. He had wanted it for her too. Living in Sugarcreek would be good for her. He was sure of it. He was also convinced that she would eventually swallow her pride and figure out a way to follow him here.

  That’s what wives were supposed to do. Follow their husbands. Right?

  Even he realized how unreasonable and out-of-date that sort of thinking was but, seriously, it just made good sense to make the move. He owned a lovely old farmhouse in Sugarcreek that his grandfather had left to him. The young Amish couple who had been renting it had recently moved out, so the timing was perfect. This offer from Doc Taylor’s widow couldn’t have come at a better time. He had been saddened by the news that his mentor had passed away, but ecstatic that Mrs. Taylor had chosen him to take over her husband’s work. It would be such a good life for him and Cassie in Sugarcreek. A wonderful life for them.

  She had begged to differ.

  Cassie was as stubborn as a mule and apparently too proud to make the first move toward a reconciliation. It had been two harsh months of silence between them. Each waiting for the other to capitulate.

  Well, it wasn’t going to be him who gave in this time. It felt too good to get out of that high rise apartment she had chosen. He hadn’t realized how much he truly hated living in the city until he had sunk his roots back into Sugarcreek. He chose to dig in his heels and wait long enough for Cassie to come to her senses.

  Instead, she had begun divorce proceedings.

  He lay the papers on the kitchen table, furious with her for having forced his hand. Could a marriage truly be destroyed by geography alone? Apparently so.

  His grandfather’s old wind-up clock in the living room struck twice. Two o’clock! He should have been asleep hours ago.

  He grabbed a pen. Better get this thing signed and get the thing in the mailbox. Better get it over with so he could go to sleep. The rest of the day was going to be rough if he didn’t get at least a little shut-eye before dawn. A vet had to be awake and ready to go to work early in the morning if he were to keep the respect of this rural community. Dairy farmers, especially, had little sympathy for a veterinarian who slept in when they were up and about their jobs long before dawn.

  Chapter 5

  Keturah quickly began the compressions again, regretting the few precious seconds she had wasted searching for the girl’s cell phone.

  The CPR instructor who trained her had taught them how to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation but warned that it was no longer advised. Especially if one was working on a stranger. It had to do with the possibility of contracting life-threatening diseases.

  With the seven-minute clock ticking down in her head, Keturah decided to ignore the instructor’s warnings. That baby needed oxygen! She bent over the girl, pinched her nose shut, and began to force her own breath into the girl’s lungs while she prayed that someone would hear that car horn and come to their rescue.

  Once again, she stopped and listened for the baby’s heartbeat. It was there, but it was growing fainter.

  “Du net schtauva, li,” she whispered. “Please don’t die, baby.”

  Sick to her stomach with fear and worry, Keturah made one of the hardest decisions of her life. She held her hands out palms up, and allowed the rain to cleanse them of blood and gel before she reached into her birthing bag for the sturdy surgical scissors she used to cut umbilical cords. They were such a clumsy tool to use for a C-section but it was all she had.

  Then she remembered Ivan’s gift! She dug deep into the bottom of the bag and pulled out the slim box that held the bone-handled blade. The well-honed straight razor was as sharp as any doctor’s scalpel.

  “I am so sorry,” Keturah said to the young mother who could no longer hear her. “But I have to do this.”

  Biting her lip with concentration, she pulled the too-small coat away from the young mother’s stomach, lifted the pink t-shirt, and tried to shield the girl’s abdomen from the rain with her own body as she opened the razor. From somewhere deep within her, she found the grit to do the unthinkable. With steady hands, she drew the blade across the dead girl’s skin.

  “Lord, please help,” she said, as she exposed the thin membrane in which the baby lay.

  Chapter 6

  Michael’s hand hovered over the line beside the red X. The letter that had come with the divorce papers stated that Cassie did not want to keep anything that belonged to him. There would be
no litigation over community property. He was welcome to whatever furniture or household items they had purchased together that he wanted.

  There were no children to fight for; no beloved pets for which they needed to work out visitation. Their lives had been so sterile there wasn’t so much as a goldfish or potted plant to discuss. He had his money. She had hers. He had his IRAs. She had hers along with her 401Ks. No fuss. No muss. If she had her way, a simple document and a trip to see a judge would sever their relationship as neatly as if it had never existed.

  In a weird way, it made sense. Cassie made certain that their apartment had absolutely no clutter. She was brutal about cutting out unnecessary items. He did not know why, except she’d once mentioned that her mother was a sloppy housekeeper and it had bothered her. She did not want to be like her mom.

  So Cassie had created a determinedly minimalistic lifestyle. They did not have keepsakes or family heirlooms lying about. Unwanted clothing did not linger in the back of their closets. She said it was the only way she could manage to live and still put in the hours she needed to succeed at her law firm.

  Friends were also something that seemed to fall into the category of “clutter.” They had never indulged in the habit of inviting other people to their home to share a meal. There was no sitting around with pie and coffee, talking and laughing with people they cared about, and who cared about them.

  They were young professionals who had careers to build. That sort of thing could come later, Cassie said. When they were better established. Michael was about as well-established as he wanted to be at the suburban animal clinic where he worked alongside two other veterinarians. He would have enjoyed having friends over. Eating popcorn and watching a movie with another couple—even if that other couple had kids. Cassie said that, for now, she just did not have the time.

  It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps the reason he had felt so strongly about moving back to Sugarcreek had less to do with the desire to take over Dr. Taylor’s practice than it did with the fact that he was so lonely.