The Doctor's Blessing. Patricia Davids
She said, “Isn’t it strange that both of you became family practice doctors. It must be in the genes. I’d love to hear the whole story. Harold was vague about the details.”
A cooler expression entered Phillip’s eyes. “It’s a personal matter that I’m not comfortable discussing.”
Oops! It seemed she’d stumbled on a touchy subject. “I’m sorry Harold’s holiday with you ended so badly.”
“As am I.” His lips pressed into a tighter line.
Amber indicated their receptionist. “I take it you’ve met Mrs. Nolan? Wilma has worked for your grandfather since he came to Hope Springs over thirty years ago.”
He nodded in Wilma’s direction. “Yes, we’ve met.”
“And I’m Amber Bradley.” She waited with bated breath for his reaction. She knew Harold had told his grandson about their collaborative practice.
Phillip’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the midwife.”
There it was, that touch of disdain in his voice that belittled her profession, dismissed her education and years of training as if they were nothing. She’d heard it before from physicians and even nurses. It seemed young Dr. White didn’t value her occupation the way his grandfather did.
She stood as tall as her five-foot-three frame allowed. “Yes, I’m a certified nurse midwife. It’s my vocation as well as my job.”
“Vocation? That’s a strong word.”
“It is what it is.”
Was that a flicker of respect in his eyes? Maybe she had jumped the gun in thinking he disapproved.
Bracing herself, she asked the unspoken question that hovered in the air. “What brings you to Hope Springs, Dr. White?”
He glanced around the small office. “Harold is fretting himself sick over this place.”
Amber tried to see the clinic through Phillip’s eyes. The one-story brick building was devoid of frills. The walls were painted pale blue. The chairs grouped around the small waiting room had worn upholstery. Wilma’s desk, small and crowded by the ancient tan filing cabinets lined up behind it, didn’t make much of a statement.
Their clinic might not look like much, but it was essential to the well-being of their friends and neighbors. Amber wouldn’t let it close without a fight.
“Harold shouldn’t worry,” she said. “We’re managing.”
“Grandfather’s doctors can’t keep his blood pressure under control. He’s not eating. He’s not sleeping well. He needs to concentrate on his recovery and he’s not doing that.” Deep concern vibrated through Phillip’s voice.
A pang stabbed Amber’s heart. “I know Harold’s concerned about us, but I didn’t realize it was affecting his health.”
“Unfortunately, it is. The only way to relieve his anxiety was to find someone to cover his practice. In spite of my best efforts to hire temporary help, I’ve had no success. Clearly, working in a remote Amish community is not an assignment most physicians are eager to take on. In the end, I had to obtain a temporary license to practice in the state of Ohio. I’m here until the tenth of September or until a more permanent solution can be found.”
“You’re taking over the practice?” Amber blinked hard. While she was delighted they were going to have a physician again, for the life of her she couldn’t understand why Harold hadn’t mentioned this tidbit of information. It ranked above bad hospital food and clueless medical students, the subjects of their conversation last night.
Her shock must have shown on her face. Phillip’s eyes narrowed. “Harold did tell you I was coming, didn’t he?”
Amber glanced at Wilma, hoping she’d taken the message. Wilma shook her head. Amber looked back at Phillip. “Ah, no.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. His mind wanders at times. This is additional proof that he is incapable of returning to work.”
Amber wasn’t sure what to think. Harold sounded perfectly rational each time she’d spoken to him on the phone. Could he fool her that easily?
Compelled to defend the man who was her mentor and friend, she said, “Perhaps his pain medication muddled his thinking and he forgot to mention it. He will bounce back. He loves this place and the people here. He says working is what keeps him sane.”
Phillip didn’t look convinced. “We’ll see how it goes. For now, I’m in charge of this practice.”
He jerked his head toward the parking lot visible through the front plate-glass window. A gray horse hitched to a black buggy stood patiently waiting beside the split-rail fence that ringed the property. “Do we put out hay for the horses or do their owners bring their own?”
His satire-laden comment raised Amber’s hackles. The Amish community was tight-knit and wary of outsiders. Harold had earned their trust over thirty years of practicing medicine by respecting their ways, not by poking fun at them.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you were joining some big practice in Honolulu. I’m sure Harold told me that before he left.”
“Under the circumstances my partners have agreed to let me take a two-month leave of absence.”
Wilma finally found the courage to pipe up. “But what if Dr. Harold isn’t back in two months?”
“Then I imagine he won’t be back at all. In that case, the clinic will be closed until another physician can be found. I’m aware there is a real shortage of rural doctors in this state, so you ladies may want to think about job hunting.”
Wilma gasped. Amber wasn’t ready to accept Phillip’s prediction. The community needed this clinic. She needed Harold’s support for her nurse-midwife practice. The people of Hope Springs needed them both.
She chose to remain calm. There was no use getting in a panic. She would put her faith in the Lord and pray harder than ever for Harold’s recovery.
Phillip didn’t seem to notice the turmoil his words caused. He said, “I found the coffeepot but I can’t find any coffee.”
His abrupt change of subject threw her for a second. Recovering, she reached in her bag and withdrew a package of Colombian blend. “We were out. I stopped at the store on my way here.”
“Good. I take mine black. Just bring it to my office.”
Was he trying to annoy her? Everyone was equal in this office. That was Harold’s rule. The person who wanted coffee made it and then offered it to the others. He never expected anyone to wait on him. And it wasn’t Phillip’s office anyway. It still belonged to Harold.
“When can we begin seeing patients?” The object of her ire glanced at his watch.
Wilma advanced around the corner of her desk with a chart in hand. “There is a patient here to see Amber now.”
His frown deepened to a fierce scowl. He pinned Amber with his gaze. “You’re seeing patients?”
Amber knew the legal limits of her profession. She didn’t care for his tone.
Her chin came up. “I am a primary care provider. I do see patients. If you mean am I seeing obstetrical patients, the answer is no. I haven’t been since Harold left. Edna Nissley is sixty-nine. She’s here for a blood pressure check and to have lab work drawn.”
“I see.” His glower lightened.
“People knew Harold was going to be gone, so our schedule has been light. Those patients outside my scope of practice have been sent to a physician in a neighboring town.”
“Plus, we painted all the rooms except Harold’s office and had the carpets cleaned,” Wilma added brightly.
Amber