Katie's Redemption. Patricia Davids
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“Yes, you can. The Lord will give you the strength you need,” Nettie said gently.
No, He won’t. God doesn’t care what happens to a sinner like me.
“Is the midwife okay, or will you be wanting to go to a hospital?” Elam’s voice interrupted her fatalistic thoughts.
She turned her face toward the wall. “I can’t afford a hospital.”
“The midwife will do fine, Elam. I’ve heard good things about Nurse Bradley from the women hereabouts. Go over to the Zimmerman farm and ask to use their phone. They’ll know her number. What are you waiting for? Get a move on.”
“I was wondering if there was anyone else I should call. Perhaps the baby’s father? He should know his child is being born.”
“Matt doesn’t care about this baby. He left us,” Katie managed to say through gritted teeth. The growing contraction required all her concentration. The slamming of the outside door signaled that Elam had gone.
When her pain eased, Katie turned back to watch Nettie bustling about, making preparations for her baby’s arrival. The kitchen looked so different than it had during the years Katie had lived here. She could see all of the changes Elam and his mother had made. She concentrated on each detail as she tried to relax and gather strength for her next contraction.
Overhead, a new gas lamp above the kitchen table cast a warm glow throughout the room. As it had in her day, a rectangular table occupied the center of the room. The chairs around it were straight-backed and sturdy. The dark, small cabinets that once flanked the wide window above the sink had been replaced with new larger ones that spread across the length of the wall. Their natural golden oak color was much more appealing.
Setting Katie’s suitcase on a chair, Nettie opened it and drew out a pink cotton nightgown. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”
Embarrassment sent the blood rushing to Katie’s face, but Nettie didn’t seem to notice. The look of kindness on her face and her soothing prattle in thick German quickly put Katie at ease. Elam’s mother seemed perfectly willing to accept a stranger into her home and care for her.
Dressed in a dark blue dress covered by a black apron, Nettie had a sparkle in her eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Her plump cheeks were creased with smile lines. No one in Katie’s family had ever been cheerful.
Nettie’s gray hair was parted in the middle and coiled into a bun beneath her white kapp the way all Amish women wore their hair. Katie fingered her own short locks.
Cutting her hair had been her first act of rebellion after she left home. Amish women never cut their hair. It had been one way Katie could prove to herself that she was no longer Amish. At times, she regretted the loss of her waist-length hair. She once thought she despised all things Amish, yet this Amish woman was showing her more kindness than anyone had ever done. Only one person Katie knew in the neighborhood where she’d lived with Matt would have taken her in like this, but that friend was dead. The English world wasn’t always a friendly place.
After she had changed into her nightclothes, Katie settled back into bed. Nettie added more wood to the stove. The familiar crackle, hiss and popping sounds of the fire helped calm Katie’s nerves. Until the next contraction hit.
Elam wasted no time getting Judy hitched to the buggy. In spite of her master’s attempts to hurry, the black mare balked at the wide doorway, making it clear she objected to leaving her warm barn. Elam couldn’t blame her. The windblown sleet felt like stinging nettles where it hit his face. He pulled the warm scarf his mother had knitted for him over his nose and mouth, then climbed inside the carriage.
The town of Hope Springs lay three miles to the east of his farm. He had Amish neighbors on all sides. None of them used telephones. The nearest phone was at the Zimmerman farm just over a mile away. He prayed the Mennonite family would be at home when he got there or he would have to go all the way into town to find one.
Once he reached the highway, he urged Judy to pick up her pace. He slapped the reins against her rump and frequently checked the rectangular mirror mounted on the side of his buggy. This stretch of curving road could be a nerve-racking drive in daylight. Traveling it in this kind of weather was doubly dangerous. The English cars and trucks came speeding by with little regard for the fact that a slow-moving buggy might be just over the rise.
Tonight, as always, Elam trusted the Lord to see him safely to his destination, but he kept a sharp lookout for headlights coming up behind him.
It was a relief to finally swing off the blacktop onto the gravel drive of his neighbor’s farm. By the time he reached their yard, his scarf was coated with ice from his frozen breath. He saw at once that the lights were on. The Zimmermans were home. He gave a quick prayer of thanks.
Hitching Judy to the picket fence near the front gate, he bounded up the porch steps. Pulling down his muffler, he rapped on the door.
Grace Zimmerman answered his knock. “Elam, what on earth are you doing out on a night like this?”
He nodded to her. “Goot evening, Mrs. Zimmerman. I’ve come to ask if I might use your telephone, please.”
“Of course. Is something wrong? Is your mother ill?”
“Mamm is fine. We’ve a visitor, a young woman who’s gone into labor.”
“Shall I call 911 and get an ambulance?”
“Mamm says the midwife will do.”
“Okay. Come in and I’ll get that number for you.”
“My thanks.”
The midwife answered on the second ring. “Nurse Bradley speaking.”
“Miss Bradley, I am Elam Sutter, and I have need of your services.”
“Babies never check the weather report before they decide to make an appearance, do they? Has your wife been into the clinic before?”
“It is not my wife. It is a woman who is visiting in the area, so she hasn’t been to see you.”
“Oh. Okay, give me the patient’s name.”
He knew Katie’s maiden name, but he didn’t know her married name. Was the man she spoke of her husband? Deciding it didn’t matter, he said, “Her name is Katie Lantz.”
“Is Mrs. Lantz full term?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How far apart are her contractions? Is it her first baby?”
“That I don’t know. My mother is with her and she said to call you,” he stated firmly. He was embarrassed at not being able to answer her questions
“Are there complications?”
“Not that I know of, but you would be the best judge of that.”
“All right. How do I find your