The Doctor's Blessing. Patricia Davids

      Amber helped herself to the small bite of pie he’d left. “My turn to ask a question.”

      “Why won’t I allow you to do home deliveries? I don’t believe it’s safe.”

      She leaned forward earnestly. “But it is. Home births with a qualified attendant are safe for healthy, low-risk women. Countries where there are large numbers of home births have fewer complications and fewer deaths than here in the United States. How do you explain that if home births aren’t safe?”

      “The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists do not support programs that advocate home birth. They don’t support individuals who provide home births.”

      “Is that for safety reasons or financial ones? I’m taking money out of their pockets if my patients deliver at home.”

      “You think the majority of doctors in the ACOG put money before the safety of patients? I doubt it. We could argue this point until we’re both blue in the face. I’m not changing my mind.”

      Frustrated, Amber threw up her hands and shook her head. “This isn’t a whim or a craze. This has been their way of life for hundreds of years. At least listen to some of the Amish women who want home births. Hear their side of the story. This is important to them.”

      All trace of humor vanished from his face. “What part of no don’t you understand, Miss Bradley?”

      They glared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

      Suddenly, Amber heard the front door of the clinic open. A boy’s voice yelled, “Doktor, doktor, komm shnell!”

      She leapt to her feet. “He says come quick.”

      Chapter Five

      Phillip jumped to his feet and followed Amber out to the office lobby. An Amish boy of about eight began talking rapidly. Phillip couldn’t understand a word. He looked at Amber. “What’s he saying?”

      She shushed him with one hand until the boy was done. Then she said, “Their wagon tipped over in a ditch. His mother is trapped.”

      “Did he call 9-1-1?”

      She gave him a look of pure exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you? They don’t have phones.”

      Running back to his office, Phillip grabbed his grandfather’s black bag from a shelf beside the door. Returning to the lobby, he saw Amber had a large canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

      He said, “I’ll get the car. Try to find out from him how badly she’s hurt and where they’re located so we can get EMS on the way.”

      Taking the boy by the hand, Amber followed Phillip out the door and climbed into his black SUV. She said, “It’s Martha Nissley, the woman we treated today. They overturned near their farm. It’s a quarter of a mile from the edge of town. Should I drive?”

      “You navigate and try to keep the boy calm. Is he hurt?”

      She spoke briefly to the boy in Pennsylvania Dutch. He shook his head. To Phillip, she said, “I don’t think so. He’s just out of breath from running and from fright. Turn left up ahead and then take the right fork in the road.”

      Phillip did as instructed. He wanted to hurry but he knew he had to drive safely. He’d heard horror stories from his grandfather about buggy and automobile collisions on the narrow, hilly roads.

      “There, that’s the lane.” Amber pointed it out to him as she was dialing 9-1-1 on her cell phone.

      Topping a rise, Phillip saw a group of four men freeing the horses from the wagon. Both animals were limping badly. The wagon lay on its side in a shallow ditch. Phillip pulled to a stop a few yards away.

      Turning to Amber, he said, “Make the boy understand he needs to stay in the car.”

      “Of course.” After giving the child his instructions, Phillip and Amber got out.

      Martha was lying facedown in the ditch, trapped beneath the wagon. A man knelt beside her. Phillip assumed he was her husband.

      Only the broken spokes of the front wheel were keeping the wagon from crushing her completely. The rear wheel bowed out dangerously. If either wheel came off, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

      He knelt beside her. “Martha, can you hear me?”

      “Ja,” she answered through gritted teeth.

      “Where are you hurt?”

      “My back burns like fire. I can’t move my legs.”

      His heart sank. “All right, lie still. We’ll get you out.”

      “Where is my boy, Louis? Is he okay?”

      “He’s sitting in my car. I told him to stay there.”

      “Goot.” She began muttering what he thought was a prayer. Amber scrambled down in the ditch beside them. Quickly, she checked Martha’s vital signs. Then, to Phillip’s horror, she lay down and wiggled as far under the overturned wagon as she could.

      After a minute, Amber worked herself backward and Phillip helped her gain her feet. He said, “Don’t do that again.”

      “Martha’s bleeding profusely from a gash on her left thigh. I couldn’t reach it to put pressure on it, but it’s bad.”

      He wanted to wait for the fire department and EMS. They’d likely have the Jaws of Life to lift the vehicle. But if she were hemorrhaging as badly as Amber thought, time was of the essence. “Okay, we’ll have to get the wagon off of her.”

      Phillip turned to the men gathered around. The one kneeling beside Martha rose and joined them. “I’m David Nissley, Martha’s husband. We were afraid to move the wagon and do Martha more injury.”

      “You were right. However, we need to move it now.”

      Mr. Nissley pointed up the lane. “My boy, Noah, is coming with the draft team.”

      What Phillip wouldn’t give for a forklift or at least a tractor…something he knew had enough power and wouldn’t bolt in fright and pull the heavy wagon on top of his patient. He considered trying to use his SUV but there was no room to maneuver on the narrow road.

      He said, “We need some way to brace the wagon in case that wheel comes off.”

      “We can use boards from there.” Amber pointed to the white painted fence running alongside the road. An instant later, Mr. Nissley and the men were dismantling the boards by using their heavy boots to kick them loose from the posts.

      Phillip watched the activity impatiently. “Once we have it braced so it can’t fall back, we’ll try pulling it off her.”

      A boy of about fifteen came racing down the road with a pair of enormous gray horses trotting at his heels. Sunlight gleamed off their shiny flanks as their powerful muscles rippled beneath their hides. They made a breathtaking sight.

      The boy quickly backed them into position. They stood perfectly still as they waited for their harnesses to be hooked to the wagon. Feeling dwarfed by the massive animals, Phillip decided a tractor wouldn’t be necessary.

      He turned back to Mrs. Nissley just as Amber was once again working herself under the broken vehicle, this time with her bag. He caught her foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      Her voice was muffled. “Once the weight comes off her leg, someone has to put pressure on that gash. It’s oozing bright red blood.”

      “You think it’s a severed artery?”

      “I do.”

      He didn’t like the danger she was putting herself in. He let go of her ankle because he knew she was right. The weight of the wagon on Martha might be stemming the flow of blood. Once it came off, she could bleed out rapidly.

      Mr.