The Amish Midwife

He shook his head. “I checked the can her mother gave me. It’s the same brand I got for her. How can a baby be allergic to milk?”

“Some babies just are.” It was possible the rash was from something else, but it seemed too coincidental that it appeared immediately after she’d had the formula. Anne needed more information.

Joseph ran a hand through his hair. “She can’t live on water.”

“Nay, she can’t.” Anne pulled the gown down and wrapped the blanket loosely around her. Lifting the baby to her shoulder, she patted the fussy child’s back until she quieted.

“Then what do I feed her?” Joseph sounded like a man at the end of his rope. Looking as if he hadn’t slept a wink, he raked a hand through his disheveled hair again. He hadn’t bothered putting on his hat. If Anne needed proof of how upset he was, she had it. Joseph never left his house without his straw hat unless it was to wear his black felt hat to Sunday services.

She shifted the baby to the crook of her arm. “You may need to switch her to a soy formula. I need to know what brand you gave her. It could be that you just need a different kind of milk.”

“I’ll get it.” He rushed out of the house, leaped off the porch without touching the steps and sprinted toward his home a few hundred yards to the south. Anne watched as he vaulted the fence at the edge of his property instead of using the gate and kept running. She didn’t know a man his size could move so fast.

She struggled not to laugh as she gazed at Leah. “You’re certainly showing me a different side of my neighbor. Do be kinder to the poor man. I think he’s having a hard time adjusting to you.”

It was clear that Joseph was deeply concerned about his niece and determined to do whatever it took to help her. Anne watched him rush into his house and wondered what else she would learn about Joseph Lapp while he cared for his niece.

Did his sister have any idea how much she had disrupted her brother’s life? Anne didn’t know Fannie, but she found it hard to picture anyone leaving a baby with Joseph, even for a few days. Still, his sister would know him better than Anne did. She’d seen him bottle-feeding young goats in his pen. Maybe he knew more about infants than she gave him credit for knowing.

Leah buried her face against Anne’s chest and began rubbing it back and forth. She whimpered and then started crying again, pulling Anne’s attention away from her thoughts of Joseph.

Anne stroked the baby’s head. “You poor little thing. That rash itches, doesn’t it? I have something I think will help.”

* * *

Joseph came sprinting into Anne’s house and skidded to a stop on her black-and-white-patterned linoleum. The baby had stopped screaming. Leah sat naked, splashing and giggling in a basin of water in the center of the kitchen table. Anne cooed to the child as she supported her and poured a cupful of the liquid over her slick little body. Leah wagged her arms up and down in delight.

He took a couple of gasping breaths and held out the cans. “This is what I gave her and this is what her mother left me.”

“Just set them on the table.” Anne didn’t even look at him. She was grinning foolishly at the baby and making silly noises. Leah seemed mesmerized by Anne’s mouth and the sounds she was making.

He put the new formula on the tabletop along with the empty can he’d pulled from the trash. Thankfully, he’d been too busy to burn his barrel yesterday. He dropped onto a chair as he waited for his racing heart to slow. It seemed his mad dash was for nothing. Both Anne and Leah were enjoying the bathing process. He soon noticed the communication they seemed to share.

Leah was attempting to mimic the shape of Anne’s mouth. When Anne opened her mouth wide, Leah did, too. When Anne pursed her lips together, Leah tried to imitate her. Although the baby couldn’t produce the sounds Anne was making, it was clear she was trying to do so. She flapped her arms in excitement.

After a few minutes, Joseph realized he was staring at Anne’s mouth, too. She had full red lips that tilted up slightly at the corners in a perpetual sweet smile. He liked her smile. He hadn’t paid much attention to her in the past but now he noticed her sable-brown hair glinted with gold highlights where it wasn’t covered by her white kapp. It was thick and healthy looking.

She was a little woman. The top of her head wouldn’t reach his chin even if she stood on tiptoe. Apple-cheeked and just a shade on the plump side, she had a cute button nose generously sprinkled with ginger freckles and wide owlish gray-green eyes. She wasn’t a beauty, but she had a sweet face. Why hadn’t he noticed that about her before? Maybe because he usually saw her when she was running after his goats, when she was furious.

He’d been leery when a single woman moved into the small house next to his. It had been an Englisch house before Anne bought it. It took her a while to convert it to meet their Amish rules, but the bishop had been tolerant of her progress because she was single.

She hadn’t set her sights on Joseph the way some of the single women in the community had over the years. He wasn’t the marrying kind. Apparently, Anne wasn’t the marrying kind, either. She had to be close to thirty, if not older. He’d never seen her walking out with any of the unwed men in their Plain community. The only fellow he’d seen hanging around her had been Micah Shetler. He was known as something of a flirt, but she’d never shown any interest in return and Micah had soon stopped coming around.

Anne minded her own business and let Joseph mind his. If it wasn’t for the traffic her produce stand brought in and her dislike of his goats, he would have said she was the perfect neighbor. She was proving to be a godsend today. He pulled his gaze away from her and concentrated on Leah. The baby looked happier than he’d seen her since she arrived. “She seems to be enjoying her bath.”

“I put some baking soda in the water to soothe her itching skin. It will help for a little while. Grab that towel for me, would you, please?” Anne lifted the baby from the water. Joseph jumped up and held the towel wide. He wrapped it around the baby when Anne handed her to him.

“Should I bathe her this way?” How much baking soda? How often? He didn’t want to show his ignorance, so he didn’t ask.

“If her rash doesn’t go away, you can. We need to find out what is causing the rash in the first place. I’m pretty sure she has an allergy to something.”

When he had the baby securely in his arms, Anne picked up the two formula cans. “This is odd.”

“Did I buy the wrong thing?”

“Nay, it’s nothing you did. This is soy formula. It’s often used for babies that are sensitive to cow’s milk–based formulas. I wish I could ask Fannie why Leah is on it. Was it her first choice, or did the baby have trouble with regular formula and so she switched her to soy? It’s puzzling.”

“What difference would it make?” He laid the baby and towel on the table and began drying her. She tried to stuff the fingers of both hands in her mouth.

“If Leah had trouble tolerating regular formula, there isn’t any point in giving her what I have on hand. Do you or Fannie have a milk allergy?”

“Not that I know of.”

Anne stepped up and took over the task of drying and dressing Leah. He happily stood aside.

Leah quickly became dissatisfied with her fingers and started fussing again. He glanced at Leah. “Have you more of that special water?”

“I do, but I think I want to try something else. Do you have any fresh goat’s milk?”

“Nay, the truck collected my milk yesterday evening. I haven’t milked yet this morning. Are you planning to give her goat’s milk?”

“It won’t hurt to try it.”

He had heard of babies being raised on goat’s milk, but he wouldn’t have thought of it. “I can bring you some fresh as soon as I catch a goat. How much do you need?”

“A quart to start with. I’ll have to cook it first. I don’t want to give her raw milk.”

He bristled at her insult. He ran a first-class dairy. “My goats have all been tested for disease and are healthy. I have a permit to sell raw milk and my operation is inspected regularly. I drank raw goat’s milk when I was growing up and it didn’t hurt me.”

She looked him up and down. “I can see it didn’t stunt your growth. I’m not questioning the sanitation of your dairy. I feel babies shouldn’t have raw cow or goat’s milk until they are much older than Leah is. I grew up drinking raw milk, too.”

“Cow’s milk? Maybe that’s what stunted your growth.”

“Very funny,” she snapped, but he detected a sparkle of humor in her eyes.

He folded his arms over his chest. “You don’t like my goats.”

“I’m sure they are wonderful animals.”

“My does are some of the finest milk producers in the state.”

“Joseph, I don’t have to like your goats to make a formula from their milk. Let’s hope Leah can tolerate it. Are you going to go catch a goat or do I have to?”

“I’ve seen you herd goats. You’d still be chasing them tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Make sure you use a very clean container to put the milk in.”

He shook his head as he walked out of her house. If she knew anything about his work, she would know his pails were stainless steel and cleaned with soap, water and bleach twice a day. He took good care of his animals and his equipment. How could she live next door to him and not know that?