The Amish Midwife's Courtship. Cheryl Williford
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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.
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