The Midwife's Choice (21 page)

T
he snowstorm broke quietly at twilight. Small, delicate snowflakes began to dance gently to earth with hardly a breeze to scatter them, just as Martha and Victoria, along with a still-nameless kitten, arrived back in town.

With Grace groomed, fed, and settled back into her stall, Martha led Victoria home. As they emerged from the covered bridge, just ahead and to the right, Martha saw two familiar figures leave the confectionery shop. Instinctively, she braced to a halt and put out her hand to stop Victoria. “Let's wait a moment,” she whispered, reluctant to confront the two men who might very well have been waiting for Martha to return.

Not that she lacked the will to confront either of them. She just needed a moment to garner her thoughts.

Victoria took a step closer to her mother. “What do you think Reverend Welsh and Mr. Clifford were doing at the confectionery?”

“They couldn't have been making a purchase. The shop should have closed up an hour ago. They were probably trying to see Nancy. Let's hope Miss Fern and Miss Ivy held their ground
peacefully.” Thankfully, Martha had been able to confiscate both the poker and the bottle of laudanum from Ivy, which left only Fern's rolling pin to worry about. Unless Ivy had rearmed herself, which was not likely. Not after the misadventure she had had with Thomas.

Martha and Victoria watched together in silence as the two men started off in the opposite direction down the planked sidewalk, which was quickly being covered with a fresh layer of snow. Thank Providence, neither man appeared to be injured, which was reassuring. They also did not appear to have taken notice of the two women, perhaps because they were too busy talking.

Martha could not hear what they were saying because they were too far away. The sharp, agitated tone of Russell's voice, however, left no doubt in her mind that his attempt to see his wife had either failed completely or had been disappointing. Whether the minister had been allowed to visit with Martha's patient was unclear.

Once the men were a good square away and had disappeared behind a misty curtain of snow, Martha nodded toward the confectionery. “I think it's safe for us to proceed,” she said and started out from the cover of the bridge with her birthing stool in one hand and her bag in the other.

Victoria hesitated, then quickly caught up. “Why didn't you want them to see us?”

Martha ignored the implication that she had acted cowardly, lowered her head, and turned her face away as the wind began to gust. “I'd rather wait and talk to Miss Fern and Miss Ivy first.”

Victoria slipped on an icy patch. With her hands beneath her cape holding the kitten, she had no way to regain her balance. She gasped, and the kitten began to meow frantically as they toppled to the side.

Martha caught her daughter by the shoulders, but nearly hit her with the bag in the process. “Easy does it,” she cautioned.

Victoria panted. “I . . . I almost dropped her.”

Martha chuckled. “You almost dropped yourself. Come along. Hold on to my elbow. We're almost there.”

Together, they managed to get to the back door of the confectionery and stepped inside the storage room without either of them loosing their footing. Martha had scarcely shut the door and set down her stool and bag when Ivy came charging into the room. Her heavy bosom was heaving. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes snapped with frustration. “Thank heavens you're home! You won't believe the afternoon we've had!”

Martha eased out of her cape and gloves, handed them to Ivy, and started helping Victoria remove her cape. “I take it Reverend Welsh and Mr. Clifford were too anxious to see Nancy to wait until after meeting tomorrow.”

Ivy's eyes widened. “How did you know they'd been here?”

“We saw them leaving,” Victoria responded and held up the kitten. “Isn't she sweet? Tillie Stern gave her to me. She needs a name. Maybe you can help me to think of one.”

“I helped Lena deliver a fine baby girl this afternoon,” Martha explained and quickly detailed the rest of the day's events.

Ivy's gaze softened. She reached out and patted the kitten's head. “She's darling. She looks just like a little loaf of sugar. With fur,” she added. Oddly, her gaze took on a worried look.

“Sugar's a perfect name, isn't it?” Victoria asked as she nuzzled the kitten, apparently unaware of the change in Ivy's demeanor. “I know it's an imposition having her here, but it'll only be for a few days. I'm taking her back to New York with me.”

Martha cocked a brow. “Assuming Mrs. Morgan gives her permission. Traveling that far with a kitten won't be easy.”

“If not, I'll just find her a good home,” Victoria countered. “Maybe you'd like to keep her,” she suggested to Ivy.

The older woman shook her head. “I'd love to take her, but Fern can't be around cats. They make her sneeze like the dickens. Her eyes get all red and scratchy, too. Maybe you'd better
take the kitten right up to your room and keep her there. That way, Fern won't—”

“I won't what?” Fern asked as she joined them. She took one look at the kitten, paled, and started backing straight out of the room. “Get that . . . critter out of here!”

“I'm so sorry,” Victoria said. “I didn't know you couldn't tolerate cats.”

Ivy put her arm around Victoria and led her past Martha and Fern. “Of course you didn't. We can't put that little thing out in this storm, so we'll just take her right upstairs. I have an old basket we can line with something to make her a proper bed. Then I'll come down and get her some milk. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Sugar?” she crooned.

While Ivy took Victoria upstairs, Fern led Martha into the kitchen. “I thought the kitten was a bad idea all along. I feel simply awful,” Martha offered. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you were sensitive to cats, either.”

Fern sneezed twice. “As long as the kitten stays upstairs in your room, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. I can heat up some supper for you and Victoria, if you like.”

“Thank you, but we've eaten. I'd love a hot mug of cider, though.”

While Fern set the cider to heat, Martha put out two mugs and made sure the honey crock was on the table. While they worked, Martha repeated the news of the day she had already shared with Ivy. “I saw Reverend Welsh and Mr. Clifford leaving the shop,” she added, hoping Fern would be able to explain.

Fern's hand trembled as she mopped her brow. “I wouldn't let that sniveling liar anywhere near that girl! Naturally, I reminded him of his promise to wait until after meeting tomorrow.”

Martha exhaled slowly. “I assume you mean Russell?”

Eyes wide, Fern huffed. “I might not trust Reverend Welsh completely on this matter, but he is a man of the cloth. I'd never refer to him that way.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't—”

“Never you mind.” Fern waved her hand in the air, took a thick towel, wrapped it around the handle of the pot, and poured the steaming cider into the mugs. At that moment, Ivy returned, got a saucer of milk for the kitten, and went back upstairs.

Fern shook her head, as if she could not understand her sister's interest in the kitten, and put the pot back onto the cookstove. “I wound up letting Reverend Welsh see Nancy. Ivy insisted it was the only way we could get those two men to leave.” She joined Martha at the table and wrapped her hands around her mug. Her gaze grew troubled. “He's got that girl so confused now, she's talking about going back to . . . to that fiend of a husband.”

She snorted. “‘What the Lord has joined together, let no man separate,'” she said, mimicking Reverend Welsh. “I was so mad I wanted to scream!”

Martha cocked her head. “It sounds to me like you're still angry,” she commented before adding a spoonful of honey to her cider. She took a long sip and relished the warmth that slid down the length of her body.

Fern took a sip of her cider. “I'm afraid I am. It's just so frustrating to have to stand by and watch the whole sorry scene, knowing in my heart what's going to happen, and yet I can't get anyone to listen!” She paused and shook her head. “Why can't I get anyone to listen to me? If Nancy goes back home with that man, she's going to wind up in the cemetery.”

Martha put her hand on top of Fern's. “We have to make sure that doesn't happen.”

Fern's eyes lit with surprise. “Then you agree with me that she can't ever go home with him?”

“I think we shouldn't rush Nancy into anything, whether it's a reconciliation or a separation. To start with, I think we have to let Russell see her tomorrow, even if meeting is canceled due to the storm.”

Disappointment doused Fern's enthusiasm. “How's that going to help?”

“If you and I are both present for their reunion, which I'll insist upon, we can judge for ourselves whether Nancy truly wants to return home with him and if he seems sincere about changing the way he treats her. You have more experience at this than I do, so I'm going to depend on your opinion a great deal. It may be that we'll have to let them go home together, if that's what Nancy insists upon doing, but we'll visit them frequently to keep him on guard. He might keep a better hold on his temper if he knows one of us is likely to stop by unexpectedly.”

Fern shook her head, obviously unconvinced. “I don't care how sincere he appears to be. That man's brutalized her more than once, and he'll do it again. Even if one of us literally moved into their home, it wouldn't guarantee her safety. Ivy lived with me, but that didn't stop my husband, remember?” She paused and gently massaged the base of her neck. “I'll be there with you when he meets with her tomorrow. If he waits until then.”

Martha's pulse began to race. “What do you mean? Did he say he was coming back tonight?”

“Not in so many words, but I saw that look in his eye. He'll be back tonight to try to sneak in to see her, but I'll be there when he does. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get ready now.”

Before Martha could offer any sort of response or caution her friend about not repeating the same mistake as Ivy had made when she mistook Thomas for Russell Clifford, Fern retrieved her rolling pin from the counter and headed up the stairs.

She stopped halfway up the stairs, turned, and called back to Martha. “I almost forgot. Thomas left on his trip shortly after you went out with Victoria. He dropped something off for you. It's in your room,” she offered, then promptly continued on her way.

Curious, Martha cleared the table first before she followed
Fern upstairs. As tempted as she was to go to her room to find out what Thomas had left for her, she knew she needed to see Nancy first. Fern was just too emotional to be objective, but with good reason, given her past. Martha had not even begun to think about how to resolve Nancy's situation, which made her feel a bit guilty.

Rather than rely on Fern's opinion about what Nancy intended to do about her marriage, Martha decided it would be better to talk to the young woman directly, especially if Martha were to have any chance of judging the impact of Reverend Welsh's visit.

She started down the hallway and went directly to Nancy's room. The chair outside her door was empty, which meant Fern either decided to stand guard inside the room or she had not finished getting ready yet. Martha knocked once, slowly opened the door, and stepped inside. Fortunately, Fern was nowhere to be seen. She found Victoria and Nancy sitting together on the bed with the kitten snuggled on Nancy's lap.

Martha chuckled. “It looks like you've met Sugar.”

Nancy offered her a crooked smile. Although the bruises around her eyes and on her cheek were turning deep purple, a sure sign of healing, her eyes were clear and sparkling. “Cute, isn't she? Her name is Snowball, though.”

Martha chuckled. Lucky little kitten. Scarcely half a day after leaving her mother, she had already been given two names, whereas poor Bird still had none. Martha wondered how he was faring with Dr. McMillan and made a mental note to speak to the doctor about the bird tomorrow after meeting.

Victoria grinned. “Nancy loves the kitten so much she wants to keep her! I told her yes, of course. It wouldn't be fair to expect Snowball to sit still in a basket for the long journey to New York,” she said, echoing the very argument Martha had used on the way home, an argument that Victoria had summarily dismissed at the time.

Victoria pointed to the floor near the corner of the room. “Look! Miss Ivy made up a little bed for her.”

Sure enough, there was an oval basket, lined with the same yellow gingham that covered the tables in the shop below. Martha smiled. “I have a feeling she'll be one spoiled kitten, but if she stays here with Nancy, that means Miss Fern won't be able to visit. She's sensitive to cats, remember?”

Victoria frowned.

Nancy lifted a brow. She caressed the sleeping kitten. “I'm feeling so much better. Miss Fern and Miss Ivy have been very kind to let me stay here, but I was wondering if . . . if maybe I could go home soon.”

Martha cast a warning glance at Victoria, who rose immediately. “It's been a long day. I'll leave you two to talk,” she suggested and promptly took her leave after giving Snowball a pat on her head.

Nancy lifted the kitten and held her against her chest.

Martha sat down beside her. “Are you sure you want to go home?”

The young woman's bottom lip, still split, but not quite as swollen, began to quiver. “Reverend Welsh says it's a wife's duty to be faithful to the vows she pledged before God and remain with her husband through good times as well as bad.”

Martha nodded. “And according to the Word, a man must love his wife as he loves himself. It's also his duty to honor and respect his wife. I don't believe Russell has done that.”

Tears welled in Nancy's eyes. “It's not all Russell's fault. It's mine, too. He . . . he wants me to forgive him and start again,” she whispered. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Martha. “Russell wrote this note to me. Reverend Welsh brought it with him today.”