The Amish Midwife by Mindy Starns Clark, Leslie Gould

out toward the warehouse. “Ezra Gundy!”
    The sawing stopped, and the cloud of sawdust began to dissipate.
    “Ezra!” the woman yelled again, louder this time. “You didn’t finish your chores!”
    “That’s Nancy,” Marta whispered.
    Nancy was noticeably shorter than Alice, her hair reddish with streaks of gray. A second later, when a young man strode through the open door of the warehouse, she put her hands on her hips and scowled.
    The teen wasn’t wearing a hat, and his bright red hair seemed to be trimmed into stylish layers, not cut in a bowl shape like the other Amish males I’d seen, both young and old. At least his outfit of black trousers, a forest green shirt, and suspenders seemed Amish enough.
    As I watched, Nancy marched down the back steps and strode briskly across the yard, her dress flapping in the breeze behind her as she went. When she reached the boy, she spoke in hushed, stern tones. Though I didn’t know either of them, I had to stifle a smile. My father had been slow to anger, but I always knew I was in for it when he summoned me using both first and last name.
    “Come on.” Marta grabbed my arm, and we hurried up the steps of the little house.
    Inside, two young women with dark hair and pale blue eyes, both in full Amish garb, greeted us. The older one was about nineteen, and Marta introduced her as Sally, the patient we had come to see, though the bulge at her belly barely showed in her loose-fitting dress. Sally offered to make tea, which we declined, and the younger one offered to take our coats. Shelooked a lot like Sally, so I wasn’t surprised when she was introduced as the younger sister, Ruth.
    As Ruth hung our coats on pegs near the door, Sally gestured toward the living room, where sunshine poured down through skylights, illuminating the small sitting area. Marta and I sat side by side on a couch that had been covered with a bedspread and tucked in at the cushions. Sally and Ruth joined us on nearby chairs. Looking again at the younger one, who seemed to be about the age of a high school freshman, I asked if she had the day off.
    “Off?”
    “From school.”
    She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled.
    “Ruth is fifteen,” Sally explained. “She’s been out of school for nearly two years now.”
    My surprise must have shown on my face, because beside me Marta clicked her tongue scornfully and said, “You don’t know much about the Amish, do you?”
    Sally smiled. “We only go through the eighth grade.”
    I couldn’t help but bristle. “No need for girls to be educated?”
    “Not just the girls,” Marta said. “The boys too.”
    “But why?”
    “It’s about pride, mostly, which they feel often tends to go hand in hand with being overeducated,” Marta explained.
    “Ya,”
Sally agreed, nodding. “The eighth grade is sufficient.”
    “But there’s still so much to learn!”
    Sally shrugged. “The learning doesn’t end, just the schooling. We’re always learning. From our parents, the community, maybe even as an apprentice or through a correspondence course. In many different ways. Even from siblings.” She looked over at her sister and winked. “Right, Ruth?”
    The girl giggled again, nodding. She was just so young!
    “Are you studying a trade?” I asked her.
    Ruth smiled behind her hand and glanced at her older sister.
    “Ruth is spending the spring and summer working with me.” Sally sat straight.
    “Like a mother’s helper?”
    Ruth nodded.
    A shout from the yard caught her attention, and she stood and drifted toward the window.
    “What is going on?” Sally asked, also standing.
    “Ezra is in trouble again,” the girl said, moving to the side of the window, a twinkle in her eye.
    Sally sat back down. “I am afraid that Ezra’s behavior has been quite amusing for my sister.”
    “I imagine so,” Marta said, and then she turned the conversation away from Ezra and onto Sally’s pregnancy, asking first about her diet. I couldn’t