The Midwife's Choice (25 page)

Martha's major task, as she saw it, was to make sure he left town, very definitely in the opposite direction from where Nancy would be going to start a new life.

Aunt Hilda stood up. “I don't know about anyone else, but I'm hungry enough to eat my way through the goodies in the shop downstairs. It's well past dinnertime, too.” She sniffed the air. “I don't smell anything cooking.”

Martha cringed. “I'm sorry. I didn't have time. I kept getting interrupted.”

Ivy's eyes began to twinkle. “We could, you know?”

Martha narrowed her gaze. “Could what?”

“Try to eat our way through the shop. It's an emergency. Sort of,” she said.

Fern sniffled. “Just eat sweets? That's ridiculous. I think there's some cheese and a little cooked chicken—”

“We'll serve that to the menfolk,” Aunt Hilda suggested. “Let's go, ladies. I know we'll all think better once we've had some sweets.”

A
t her own insistence, June Morgan served Richard Seymour and Dr. McMillan their dinner in the kitchen while Martha and Ivy carried down some chairs from upstairs. They transformed one of the serving tables in the shop into a dining table and arranged yesterday's baked goods in the center.

Nancy helped Victoria to set the table and pour tea, while Fern sat at the head of the table directing the work around her. When everything was nearly ready, she sent Nancy and Victoria into the side room to fetch a tin of crispy pretzels.

While the two younger women were gone, Fern slapped the tip of her spoon against the table and got everyone's attention. “Listen good. I have something to say before Nancy comes back. We should keep the conversation easy while we're eating. Afterward, we'll make sure she agrees with us about leaving. Then we'll ask her to go upstairs while we think of a plan. If she stays to listen and Russell gets to her somehow, she'll tell him about it for sure, and we can't have that. Agreed?”

All heads nodded.

Within moments, everyone was seated around the table. Conversation, at first, was a bit stilted, but once the baked goods were sliced and shared, the sound of gay laughter and the young women's giggles chased away the clouds of tension and fear that had shadowed the day.

An hour later, Martha polished off the last bite of cherry pie left on her plate. She surveyed the remains in the center of the table. They had actually demolished an entire cherry pie and apple cobbler, half a tin of crispy pretzels, nearly eight sugared doughnuts (there was half of one left), and too many butter cookies to count. Oddly, the fruitcake had gone untouched.

She eased her chair back from the table for the second time. “I'm finished this time! Please don't let me sample anything else.”

Victoria snatched the last half doughnut. “This is the best dinner I've ever had!” she pronounced before nibbling at her doughnut.

“Me too,” Nancy admitted. She took two butter cookies and laid them on her plate. “You said this was a tradition?”

Aunt Hilda nodded. “I declared it so.”

Chuckling, Martha dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “As the town matriarch, I suppose Aunt Hilda is entitled to all sorts of privileges. Like starting traditions.”

“That's right,” Aunt Hilda added. “As of today, every big snowstorm calls for a sweet dinner at the confectionery. With the bad winters we've had over the years, I wonder why I didn't think of this sooner.” She picked up her teacup and raised it to eye level with her arm extended. “A toast. To the good Lord for all His blessings, to the Lynns for all their sweets, and to each of us, for coming together as sisters in faith.”

Everyone, even Fern, managed to raise a teacup and they clinked them together to affirm Aunt Hilda's toast.

When Nancy yawned, Fern caught Martha's gaze and nodded ever so slightly.

“I think maybe you've had enough for one day, Nancy. This
is only your second time downstairs. Why don't you let Victoria take you back upstairs so you can nap while we clean up from dinner?” Martha prompted.

Nancy bowed her head for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes shimmered with tears. “I am a little tired. I . . . I want to thank you. All of you,” she added as she glanced around the table. “Thank you for helping me. I had hoped today would have turned out differently. For Russell and me.”

Aunt Hilda patted the girl's arm. “Hope is a treasured gift. It's not one we give up easily, is it?”

Nancy shook her head. “I know now I was only being foolish to think Russell would change. I know . . .” She paused to take a deep breath, visibly struggling to keep from crying. “I know I can't go home again. I can't be his wife anymore. I . . . I just don't have anywhere else to go. As much as I want to stay here, I know he'll cause trouble for everyone.”

Ivy stood up, walked around the table, and put her hands on Nancy's shoulders. “That's what we're here for—to help you,” she promised. “We'll make sure you get situated somewhere far away where you'll be safe.”

Nancy sniffled and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye while Ivy went back to her seat. “I can't ask you to do that. Russell will be very angry when he finds out you helped me. I should just . . . just run away. Then no one else—”

“You'll do no such thing,” Fern demanded.

Aunt Hilda tilted up her chin. “Now you listen to me, young lady. We have lots of traditions here in Trinity. Some are for holidays and some are for snowstorms. As ladies of Trinity, we have some traditions that are all our own. You're still new to Trinity, so you don't know about all of them,” she said, casting a warning glance to all the others to remain silent.

“Traditions just for women?” Nancy asked.

“For one, we call a midwife when we're sick, rather than a doctor,” Martha offered with a grin.

“We have sewing bees and apple bees,” Victoria added.

Ivy narrowed her gaze, then smiled when she offered her contribution. “We make wedding quilts when one of us gets married.”

“We become watchers and keep folks company when they're getting ready to pass on to the next world,” Fern murmured.

Aunt Hilda nodded solemnly. “And we help other women out of difficulties. Always. We don't boast about it, though. Most of the time, the menfolk don't even know what we've done. We just see a need and address it.”

“That's right,” the others said in unison.

Aunt Hilda smiled at Nancy, who still looked so fragile and vulnerable. “So you see, you simply must let us help you. It's tradition. If there's anything I've learned all these years, it's to respect tradition.”

As her aunt continued to put the young woman at ease, Martha marveled at the compassion and understanding each of the others had brought to the table in Nancy's time of need. Her aunt also reminded Martha that there truly was a sisterhood here in Trinity, perhaps everywhere that women gathered in communities, with an undeclared but very real bond between the women, which helped all of them to sustain each other and survive the troubles life often brought home to them.

Lately, more often than not, Martha had overlooked the other women and tried to find solutions alone, mistakes she now regretted. Maybe if she had consulted with other women, they might have come up with different options to help Samuel and Will, and they might still be here in Trinity. Maybe, if Martha had not acted like the only one who could solve someone's problems or if she asked for others' opinions, she might have had more time to spend with Victoria.

Or Thomas.

She heard the echo of his proposal and her arguments against accepting it, but this time, she saw other possibilities. Some made her heart race just a little faster.

“Martha? Martha!”

She flinched. “What?”

Aunt Hilda scowled at her. “I asked if you'd like to take Nancy upstairs now for her nap.”

Martha felt her cheeks warm. “I'm sorry. I must have been woolgathering. I thought Victoria was going to take Nancy upstairs.”

“Actually, I'd prefer to stay here,” Victoria said firmly.

Confused, Martha searched the faces around the table, but found no supporters for herself.

“Another tradition, unfortunately, is a legal one,” Fern said quietly. “Whatever arrangements we make for Nancy must be kept secret, especially from the menfolk. Even though the law dismisses us by not letting us vote or serve as jurors or even testify in court most of the time, there is one exception.”

Martha swallowed hard. “For midwives.”

“Your status as a midwife gives your words the credibility we don't have,” Aunt Hilda reminded her. “They probably won't think it important to question us much, but Nancy has been your patient. If she suddenly disappears and Russell gets the sheriff involved, you'll be the first one he'll want to see and talk to.”

“Then there's Reverend Welsh to consider, too,” Ivy added.

Their arguments made sense, but Martha did not take being excluded from the planning session easily. Her feelings were hurt. Unjustifiably, perhaps, but it was probably a necessary lesson in humility for Martha that was long overdue. “You're right,” she admitted.

When Martha rose from her seat, Nancy followed suit and glanced around the table. “I don't know how to thank you all for being so kind.”

Aunt Hilda winked at her. “Why, you'll have to continue the tradition. That's how. Sooner or later, others will need help wherever you go. Helping them is how you'll thank us.”

As Martha escorted the young woman toward the kitchen to
get to the back staircase, Fern called her back. “Use the front stairs. It's faster. Besides, no sense giving the menfolk any idea what's going on in here.”

Martha retraced her steps and led Nancy through the room to the foyer area and the door that kept the front staircase closed off from the public. She stepped aside to let Nancy go first and followed her up the steps. “I can take a look at Snowball for you, if you'd like,” she offered.

“I think she's fine, but maybe that's a good idea. She landed so hard, I was afraid she might . . . anyway, after what happened today, I renamed her. I think Lucky suits her better, don't you?”

“Another name?” Chuckling, Martha shook her head. “Cats and kittens have nine lives. Lucky still has eight left.”

Nancy giggled. “Not after getting into Miss Fern's room twice today. She used up two right there.”

“Then six.” Martha stopped at the top landing, held Nancy back, and peered into the sitting room and down the length of the hall. No one appeared to be upstairs, and they continued to Nancy's room, where they found Lucky sleeping on Nancy's pillow.

Martha checked the kitten, pronounced her fit, and tucked them both into bed for a nap. “You probably won't be able to take Lucky with you,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

With the kitten nestled into the crook of her neck, Nancy stroked the kitten's head. “I know. Victoria thinks Mrs. Morgan might let her take Lucky to New York.”

“Maybe she will,” Martha responded, already trying to think of someone here in Trinity who might be willing to take the kitten. She pulled the window curtain aside a little bit, peeked outside, and let the curtain drop back into place with a sigh.

Nancy yawned. “Is it still snowing?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Good. That means Victoria won't be leaving tomorrow.”

Martha cocked a brow. “Yes, it does. In fact, I'd be surprised
if they'll be able to leave much before the end of the week.” She looked out the window again. Since it faced south, she did not have a view of Main Street, but she could see a corner of the covered bridge. The gully surrounding Dillon's Stream was nearly filled with snow.

In all likelihood, there would not be any wagon traffic for days, if not weeks. Sleighs, of course, would have a better chance, as long as the horses pulling them were as sturdy and surefooted as Grace. Individual riders, however, would be foolish to venture out on any kind of journey. She prayed, this time unselfishly, that any babes about to enter this world would wait until the weather cleared—for the safety of the fathers who would be risking life and limb to fetch the midwife.

A knock at the door interrupted her prayer. When she answered the door, she found June Morgan standing in the hallway. Clearly distressed, she was wringing her hands.

Martha slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her. “What's wrong?” she asked, fearful Russell might have already returned to try to claim his wife.

“There's a man downstairs asking for you. Devon Harper. He says his wife is about ready to deliver.”

Martha's heart dropped down to her knees and back up again. Apparently, her prayer had been offered too late. “Tell him I'll be right down. I need to get my things.”

“But the storm! You can't possibly—”

“Their farm is just outside of town. It isn't far. I've been out in worse.” She tried to ease June's worry. “Sometimes I think these babes have a sense of humor after all.”

June's eyes widened. “I'm afraid I fail to see any humor in your venturing out into a storm.”

“If you could see what I look like by the time I get there, you'd laugh, just like those babes probably do. I need to change into my split skirt, too, so if you could see that Mr. Harper gets something warm to drink while he's waiting, I'd appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

The admiration in June's gaze made Martha uncomfortable, especially after she realized how self-centered she had become lately. “It's nothing you wouldn't do, if you were the midwife,” she said and went to her room to get ready for one very cold, very wet, very treacherous ride—one that would be forgotten the moment she held a precious newborn in her arms.

A
girl! You have yourselves a beautiful baby girl!”

From her position on the floor at the new mama's feet, Martha cradled the screeching infant on her lap, cut the umbilical cord, and cleaned the babe up for her proud mama and papa. Joy and awe warmed every chill remaining in Martha's bones and erased any fear left from the harrowing ride that had brought Martha here several hours ago, just as she knew would happen.

Unfortunately, Martha had but one assistant, yet Carrie North was exceptionally good and the most trusted assistant Martha had. The fact that Carrie lived less than two miles away and could get here, even before Martha, was indeed a blessing for all concerned.

The infant gradually began to quiet. “There, there, sweet one,” Martha crooned. She used the tips of her fingers to smooth the mass of dark ringlets capping the baby's head. After swaddling the babe in a soft blanket, Martha handed her to her anxious mama.

Genevieve Harper, who was seated on her husband's lap with
the birthing stool supporting them both, put the newborn into the crook of her arm. “Oh, look, Devon! She has your chin. See? There's a little dimple, just like yours.”

To Martha's right, Carrie stood, gazing at the new family. At twenty-nine, she was a wife and mother who had a particular gift for helping other women give birth and assisted Martha frequently, much like Martha had done at that same age for Grandmother Poore. Carrie was unusually tall for a woman, nearly six feet, and she had the stamina, as well as the will, to one day make an exceptional midwife. Since Victoria would not be following family tradition by becoming a midwife, which Martha now accepted, she could think of no finer replacement, when the time came, than Carrie North.

Martha noted the subtle change in Carrie's expression, heard Genevieve whimper, and got up from resting on her haunches to kneel up straight.

Carrie took Genevieve's free hand. “Hold on to them now,” she urged the new father.

“It's just the afterbirth. It won't be as painful. Just take a deep breath and ride out the pain,” Martha prompted.

Genevieve yelped and began panting the moment the pain ended. “Something's . . . something's wrong. It hurts. It really hurts,” she cried as she arched back and pressed her head against her husband's chest as another pain wracked her body.

“Try to relax. You're only adding to the pain. It's almost over,” Martha promised. The most exciting births, from her standpoint, were the ones where a couple welcomed their first child into the world. That's why little Peter Clifford's passing had been extra hard to accept.

Women delivering their first child, however, were often frightened and bewildered, even prone to panic, since giving birth compared to nothing they had ever experienced. Martha's role then became more of teacher than anything else and required great patience.

Carrie looked down at Martha and nodded. “Here comes another pain. This should do it, don't you think?”

“Very likely.” She slipped her hands beneath Genevieve's nightdress and placed them at the entrance to the birth canal. “Push this time, Genevieve, and you'll be done. Now push!”

Genevieve screamed.

Devon looked frightened.

Carrie held her hand tight.

Martha felt a warm gush of fluid, then something solid began to emerge. Her heart began to thump against the wall of her chest. Fearing a tumor or mass of some sort, she edged closer. “Lift up her nightdress,” she requested, trying to keep her voice from shaking or frightening her patient.

Using her free hand, Carrie scrunched up a section of Genevieve's nightdress and tugged it up to the woman's knees. With the opportunity to see what was happening now, Martha looked, blinked hard, and looked again. Both stunned and alarmed, she had no time to waste. “Push, Genevieve. Push hard!”

“I . . . I can't,” she wailed.

“You can and you will. Right now. Push. Push!” Carrie ordered.

After one push, Genevieve collapsed against her husband. Martha felt the mass slide free. Her hands trembled as she turned in place and brought the silent treasure to her lap, out of the direct view of her parents.

With her heart racing, Martha snipped the umbilical cord, cleared the silent, tiny baby girl's airways, and massaged her little chest. “Come on, angel. Take a breath. Please,” she whispered, dismayed by the blue tinge of the baby's lips.

Nothing. No sound. No movement.

Then Martha saw a twitch, ever so slight, in the baby's neck. She massaged harder, but was careful not to do any damage to the fragile bones beneath the cool flesh. She closed her eyes briefly and offered a prayer, begging for this baby's life. Several
heartbeats later, the baby began to cough and sputter. “That's right. Fight, little one. Your big sister would be so lonely without you.”

The babe opened her little mouth, filled her lungs with air, and emptied them with a fit of crying that told Martha all would be well. Trembling with happiness and gratitude, Martha bowed her head. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered, quickly wrapped the baby to keep her warm, and handed her to Carrie, whose eyes were as big as melons. “It seems you're twice blessed today,” Martha told the parents, who had been shocked into total silence. “You were right about those pains. Much too hard for the afterbirth. You have a second daughter! She's a mite, compared to her big sister, but she'll catch up in no time.”

“Twins? We have twins?” Devon Harper turned paler than his wife, who wept openly, unable to speak.

“You do!” Carrie crowed. “I've never seen the birth of twins. This is amazing!” She placed the second newborn into Genevieve's other arm and put a hand under the infants to help their mother support them.

Genevieve looked thoroughly exhausted. Poor Devon looked a bit worse for wear himself. “We still have the afterbirth to contend with, but we'll get you to bed as soon as we can,” Martha promised. “You need to get as much sleep now as possible. I have a feeling you're going to need it. Do you have names for these little girls?” she asked to distract Genevieve during the last part of the birth process.

Genevieve sighed. “We were both sure we were having a boy.”

Martha chuckled to herself. Twin girls. What a surprise for everyone, including herself. And what a perfect ending to the day!

To welcome two angels into this world together was a rare privilege indeed. She had not helped to deliver twins since the Matthews' girls, also future members of the sisterhood of all women, had been born some three years ago.

Thinking of that sisterhood, she wondered what was happening back at the confectionery. Had they all decided on a plan to help Nancy escape? If so, where would they send her and how? Martha suspected Fern and Ivy would probably help finance Nancy's escape, but Martha did have some funds set aside she could offer. She also had the key to Thomas's cabin, in case they needed a place for Nancy to hide temporarily, although the cabin was so far from town it might prove to be very dangerous should Russell discover the hideout.

Samuel's cabin, now empty, would be a more logical hideout. It was so close they could easily watch over Nancy. Most folks did not think twice about the recluse, especially now that he had gone. Even if they did, they would not venture near his cabin for fear he might return. Russell Clifford, a newcomer, would probably have no idea the cabin even existed.

Anxious to get back to the confectionery to offer her suggestions to the others, Martha helped Carrie get Genevieve into bed with her twin daughters and finished the rest of her duties. There would not be a groaning party this time, since no one else had been summoned due to the weather, but there was going to be one very special prayer offered in a few moments to express their gratitude for these two baby girls.

Just past midnight, Martha joined Carrie at the kitchen table to share a pot of tea. “She's resting now,” she explained in response to the unspoken question in Carrie's gaze.

“Is this common in twin births?” she asked, clearly curious and as anxious to learn as always.

Martha added honey to her tea and stirred the mixture. “Having twins is uncommon enough that I'm not really sure, but unusually heavy bleeding after delivery is always cause for concern. The lady's-mantle should help, though.”

Carrie let out a sigh. “I wish I could stay longer, but I really do have to go home in the morning. There's been such a rush of babes lately, I've barely seen my own.”

After swallowing a long sip of tea, Martha nodded.

“I remember feeling the same way when Oliver and Victoria were little.”

“Maybe Mrs. Seymour will be able to come. She lives right on the edge of town, so it wouldn't be as difficult for her to get here in this weather as it would be for someone living above the falls.”

Martha shook her head. “I'm afraid she won't be able to come. She has a . . . guest,” she responded. Unsure whether Aunt Hilda still wanted to keep her husband's arrival home a surprise for next Sunday's meeting, Martha decided to err on the side of caution.

As a first-time mother, especially with twins, Genevieve very definitely needed an afternurse. Martha needed to get home, what with all that was happening, assuming she could get Genevieve's bleeding under control.

Carrie's face lit. “What about Lucy?”

“She's attending Miriam.”

“Oh.” Carrie's expression filled with disappointment.

Martha went through a mental list of women who usually served as afternurses, but as far as she knew, they were already on duty elsewhere. “I can't think of anyone,” she admitted. “That's what happens when you young people settle so far from home and family. If Genevieve's mother lived nearby—”

Carrie slapped the table. “That's it! That's who we can ask.”

Martha eyed her skeptically. “Surely not Genevieve's mother. She lives in Maine! By the time she got here, little Martha and Carrie would be crawling,” she argued. It still sounded strange to refer to the twins, who were now their namesakes, by their actual names.

“Not Genevieve's mother. Mine!”

“Elaine? As far as I know, she's never been interested in being an afternurse.”

“But she has lots of experience,” Carrie argued. “She's stayed with me after my babes were born, and she stayed with Anna and Rose, too. Now that Papa's gone and Mama's living with David and Anna, I think Mama would like to get away from time to time.”

Martha chuckled in spite of herself. David and Anna's four boys were famous, at least locally, for being the most rambunctious brood ever born and bred in Trinity. Elaine might very well want to take a breather. “She'd be perfect. Do you think she'll come out in this weather?”

Carrie's grin widened. “With everyone there stuck inside? She'd probably crawl here if she had to. I'll have Mr. Harper stop at David's after he takes me home in the morning. David's place isn't that much farther up Falls Road.”

“I'd better wait to leave until after she gets here,” Martha suggested, “just in case she's not able to come for some reason. I don't want to leave Genevieve alone, even if the bleeding's slowed.”

“She'll come,” Carrie insisted.

“I don't know what I'd do without your help,” Martha said sincerely. “You'll be a fine midwife on your own one day. Nothing would make me prouder than to have you take over when I'm no longer able to continue.”

A flush started at the base of Carrie's neck, spread up her throat, and stained her cheeks. A fine line of perspiration dotted her upper lip. “Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you. . . .” Her eyes misted. “We had a letter last week from Joseph's parents. His father isn't well and . . . we're moving to New Hampshire as soon as the weather permits. Joseph is going to take over his father's mercantile business. He's an only son. He has no other choice,” she murmured.

Disappointed to the very depths of her spirit, Martha was
also shocked beyond measure. She had become very fond of Carrie, and she would miss her immensely. In her mind's eye, she saw Carrie and Joseph, along with their three children, joining the exodus leaving Trinity, and her heart trembled with sadness.

“Of course he has a choice,” Martha countered, hoping to ease the younger woman's obvious distress, “but he's choosing well. He wouldn't be the man I've come to respect since he arrived if he turned his back on his parents when they've asked for his help. I'll miss you. All our patients will miss you, too.”

Carrie sighed and wrapped her hands around her cup of tea. “I'm so torn. I never thought I'd move from Trinity. My entire family is here. My friends are here.”

“It won't be easy, but you'll be fine. You'll make new friends, I'm sure. You'll come home for visits, won't you?”

“Joseph promised I could.”

“We'll see each other then, and we'll write, too. In the meantime, let's not waste a moment we have left. Tell me all about this mercantile store.”